Chasing The Careless Traveller
by Arliene
Summary: Albus Dumbledore was too late. Someone else managed to defeat Gellert, leaving chaos and too many questions behind. Tom Riddle, who recently graduated from Hogwarts, was fully committed to become the greatest Dark Lord of all time, chasing immortality and surpassing Grindelwald's legacy. It's too bad that Unspeakable Harry Potter had something to say about that. HP/TR. Time travel
1. Who are you?

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended

**A/N: This is a HP/TR time travel story (Slash), which kicks off right after Tom's graduation from Hogwarts.**

For ABV readers. I have almost finished writing the next chapter. Will be up in a couple of days.

As for this story: It will be a longer one and the usual applies. Harry and Tom will be treated as equals. Btw, I don't have a beta. Sorry.

Hope you enjoy the ride.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Who are you?**

The battlefield resembled a graveyard, a last resting place for both sides in this senseles war. Not many had survived the onslaught of Grindelwald's army and those that somehow did, were left surrounded by the bodies of their fallen comrades. The sun still shone brightly and if it weren't for the obvious signs of destruction, nothing would've been memorable about this day.

The body of a German Auror was the first thing Albus noticed upon arrival. Eyes stared up at him, devoid of life. It made him feel sick.

But he had to move on, had to find his old friend and lover amongst the dead. Albus strode across the field, trying not to let the stench and utter devastation get to him.

The field was coated in the scent of burnt flesh. Patches of grass were missing and smoke permeated the air where curses had met their targets. Gellert's 'Heer' had acted as efficient as rumors indicated, leaving nothing but lost souls behind.

It shouldn't have ended like this. In the end, nothing had worked out the way it was supposed to.

Once upon a time, he would've even stood by Gellert's side, would've watched and even participated in this kind of violent uprising, thinking he was on the right side of history.

Even today, the thoughts and secret dreams of a distant past ashamed him, but it also served as a reminder that someone like him couldn't be trusted with power.

And neither could a man like Gellert.

Small groups of Aurors were still patrolling the perimeter, watching over the captured German insurgents while others cried openly at the loss of their friends or stood completely still, too shocked and traumatized at the sight.

A young man, one of the English Aurors made his way over to him as soon as he saw Dumbledore. Albus recognized him instantly, well aware that a man in his position couldn't be allowed to break down like his fellow comrades.

"Thomas, my boy. Is everything alright?"

The Auror leader bowed and gave him a small smile, no doubt feeling relieved to see him.

"As well as it can be under these circumstances," he said, his face resembling a blank page, a mask.

"And Gellert Grindelwald? Did he-?" Albus asked again, feeling breathless for a moment. Gellert couldn't be dead.

Thomas eyed him strangely, almost as if he could sense his deepest thoughts, his worries. Of course, that wasn't possible. But still...

"We managed to capture him, but-" the Auror paused, collecting his thoughts. "We had help."

Dumbledore stilled, adjusting his half moon glasses. Something was wrong.

"Help? From the German Aurors?" he asked carefully. Obviously it would take more than just one group of people to subdue a Dark Lord.

Thomas shook his head, gazing at the ground as if lost in his own thoughts.

"No. It was quite unusual, Albus. There was a man who appeared out of nowhere," he began. "He didn't wear a standard combat robe or anything that made it possible for us to identify him. It's just - all we know was that he decided to fight against Grindelwald all by himself."

"But surely you tried to stop him or at least take over?" Dumbledore said, his anxiety increasing with the newest revelation. As far as he knew, there was no wizard in Europe that could've singlehandedly defeated Gellert. The chance was there, of course, if one looked beyond European borders. But rarely did outsiders get involved in the mess of another country.

The Auror's lips thinned in displeasure, but he continued nonetheless.

"We couldn't. He just told us to stay out of it and then proceeded to challenge the Dark Lord. It was...quite spectacular. And frightening, to be honest. But maybe you should talk to the Dark Lord. He might even be able to tell you more than I can at this point," Thomas said and pointed at the crowd guarding a man.

Dumbledore's heart stopped at the sight.

Without hesitation he moved forward, his eyes never leaving the form of one of the most powerful wizards in this world. Thomas followed him at a distance, but Dumbledore was too focused on what appeared to be his friend. And with every step he took, the resemblance to a man of his past was replaced with the image of a new person. A man who looked beyond defeated, almost tired of living.

This individual was no Gellert Grindelwald at the top of his established regime. No, his friend was gone. Never to appear again.

But a spark of their bond must've been left behind; meaningless as it was, it still mattered to both of them. Gellert straightened his back, despite being bound and surrounded by a magical barrier. His eyes however refused to even look in Dumbledore's direction.

He spoke, his voice raspy and low from the spells he must've been tortured with.

"You came."

Dumbledore remained silent, which seemed to bring some sort of reaction out of the wizard. "Funny, isn't it, Albus? I prepared myself to face you, and yet it still ended like this. It's worse than death," he said, his accent shining through. He huffed and then lowered his head again.

"Who was that man?" Dumbledore barely managed to get the words out and he had to force himself not to cross the barrier.

Thin lips formed a smile, but it was self-deprecating, so uncharacteristic of Gellert's typical arrogance. The Aurors surrounding them shifted uneasily.

"I don't know. He was young. Which makes this whole affair even more aggravating, my friend," Gellert said.

His statement raised more than a few eyebrows and Dumbledore was tempted to blush.

Thousand ideas and suspicions took form inside his mind, but he had no clue where to start. The war was over and this mysterious individual had done the unexpected. But it didn't mean they were safe. Not with such an unknown individual going around and deciding to do what he did.

"He has the wand, Albus."

Gellert locked eyes with him for the first time and the seriousness of the situation suddenly came crashing down upon him.

_The Elder Wand_.

It was gone.

* * *

The day he started to work for Caractacus Burke wasn't memorable, by any stretch of the imagination. Still, a nagging sense of doubt clung to him, a persistent, annoying itch that needed to be scratched.

Tom put the heavy tome on blood wards back where it belonged; the dusty, wooden shelf in the backroom nobody ever paid attention to.

As a general rule, he never let doubt overrule his actions. He evaluated, calculated all odds against him and then proceeded to take action, usually resulting in getting it right. Being a perfectionist wasn't easy, of course. But talent and self-confidence yielded perfect results. There was no room for doubt.

Today he felt different, though.

Or maybe he simply despised his new employer and regretted ever having taken this poor excuse of a job. Burke obviously possessed even less brain mass than Dippet, and that in itself was an achievement. Ruled by greed and obsessed with the Dark didn't make this man any smarter.

Abraxas' parting words reminded him that Tom was essentially playing purchasing agent for Borgin and Burkes, an errant boy, nothing more. The Blonde's disappointment had been evident.

Tom's lips twitched in amusement. What did this pretentious wizard know?

Malfoy wouldn't even recognize ambition if it hit him in the face. Just like Burke, these people lined up for the title of useful instruments in a grander scheme he had in mind. Therefore it was only natural that the pure-blood held no opinions of value.

After carefully rearranging the last orders and making sure his pristine, black robe was in perfect condition, Tom made his way back to the counter.

Burke was currently trying to sell earrings made of fake ivory to an unsuspecting customer, a witch who looked less than impressed with the sum and quality she would get for it.

"There's simply no way I can lower the price. You must understand that ivory these days is hard to acquire. We're dealing with rare, available retail, after all."

The witch snorted, eyeing Burke in disgust.

"Rare? I could buy a similar piece at Twilfitt and Tattings's jewelry section for ten galleons," she sneered, tilting her head a bit, her blonde curls framing her face in a somewhat childish manner.

Seeing Burke's temporary loss of confidence, Tom decided to intervene.

"Similar, but not quite the real one, madam," he said, stepping closer to inspect the item. Just as he thought. It was a piece of junk.

Burke seemed to be relieved after noticing him, despite pretending to be in control. The sweat on his aged visage told another story.

"And who might you be?" she asked, eyeing the newcomer in interest. Her beady, brown eyes took in Tom's immaculate appearance. He shifted on his feet a bit, leaning closer to her. In turn she offered her hand, catching on.

"Tom Riddle, at your service." He bowed, lips briefly touching her knuckles and squeezing her palm in what was decidedly more intimate than proper.

The blush appeared quickly; a predictable reaction.

"Mrs. Lorring, this is my assistant, Tom Riddle," Burke introduced, but she hardly paid him any attention. She was too focused on the incredibly handsome youth who was now invading her personal space.

"Lorring? Of the Love Potions business, I presume?" He smiled, watching as her eyes started to gleam in appreciation. People loved it when others recognized their measly business affairs right off the bat. Tom deliberately infused his voice with respect. Which he didn't feel.

It was funny, though. The Lorring family consisted of pure-bloods who made money off of human trafficking, simply using love potions trade as a cover. All members were as dumb as rocks, from what he'd heard.

"Mathilda Lorring, it's a pleasure," she drawled, batting her eyelashes.

Even better.

Her husband had been involved in a major cheating scandal with a member of the Nott family branch, resulting in a legal battle over money and an 'accidental' death. She was rich and in full control of all financial affairs.

Unusual for women in these times.

"Mrs. Lorring, I believe you'll find no substitute for the earrings, since they were procured by using mammoth ivory from Siberia," he explained, giving Burke a pointed look. "Mr. Burke and his partner had a hard time tracking down the creator."

It was a bunch of lies, but thankfully his employer was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

The witch looked skeptical. "How can I believe this item isn't simply a cheap copy?"

At that, Tom retrieved the earrings from the glass case. Burke handed him a magnifying glass, which the Slytherin heir used to spout off his next lie.

"See these markings on top?" A long, elegant finger pointed at the enamel crown. Tiny veins broke its surface, giving the ivory a rough appearance. "They usually indicate high, magical infusion, which means the animal in question came in contact with nature's magic during the prehistoric period. It's unusual precisely because we're dealing with material before the age of civilization."

It was somewhat true and any professional dealing with ivory would tell her the same. Except in this case, Burke's partner had faked the worn-out look to fool people into thinking this junk was old.

At her dubious expression, Tom went further. "You can check back with Twifitt and Tattings. Their inventory usually consists of smooth, vegetable ivory from South America. Made out of palm trees, not mammoths, I'm afraid."

And then he stepped closer, raising his hand to brush a strand of her hair aside. The earring was held up and Burke used the opportunity to conjure a mirror. Tom drew closer, disregarding her cloying perfume as he brushed past her to touch her shoulder, now standing behind the witch.

Her breathing became slightly irregular and Tom watched as she admired herself in the mirror while he held the earring up, deliberately looking her over. She must've noticed his heated gaze. Fake as it was. She would never see past her own delusions.

"Stunning," he whispered in her ear. Beady eyes dilated, lust hitting her instantaneously at the sight of the dark-haired, young man watching her reflection without shame.

Eventually, he let go of her, returning the objects back to the glass case.

It took another hour to settle the price and eventually Burke managed to sell the fake earrings for over 4000 galleons.

They were worth less than 10.

"Good job, Tom. Good job. Keep it up." His employer grinned, counting the money. Yellowed teeth rounded up the image.

Tom sneered at him mentally, would've loved to curse the inept moron, but he knew that the reputation of this tiny shop was on the line. They couldn't afford to lose wealthy customers, since Dark Arts shops like this one relied on word-of-mouth advertising. A happy rich wizard or witch brought in more high-end clientele.

The day went by, leaving him bored out of his mind, but he also managed to successfully settle a couple of more deals and secure another meeting with a wealthy witch in possession of goblin-made trinkets.

Leaving Borgin and Burkes at half past seven, he apparated straight to his manor in Wimbourne.

Only to see Avery standing in front of his door like an imbecile.

Avery was about to call out, but Tom shut him up with a look. Walking inside, he quickly shut the door after letting his follower in.

"Make it quick, Avery."

The other boy bowed lowly in greeting, following him to the living room in small steps. Ignoring the fool, Tom threw his robe on the expensive leather couch. Playing around with idiots all day could be tiring, no matter how easy it was to manipulate their desires in his favor.

"My Lord, Nott and Goyle managed to contact the smuggling ring in Albania. Unfortunately, their leader isn't willing to meet with you in person, from what they told me," he said, rubbing his neck in nervousness.

Tom stilled, dark eyes narrowed on the pathetic form in front of him.

"Really? And why's that?"

His magic rose in warning, making the boy's hand tremble as a result.

How weak.

"Someone interfered." Bright eyes danced around the room, looking everywhere but at him. Tom knew he wasn't lying, but the news were decidedly less welcome, spelling more danger for everyone who managed to screw this up.

"Go on," he said, pouring himself a glass of water. The swirling substance calmed him down temporarily.

Avery shifted a bit, wringing his hands.

He practically stank of fear.

"Goyle met Drezner's second-in-command, but he told him that someone else already made the deal with him. Drezner didn't-" Avery paused, taking a breath.

"He didn't like your reputation."

Dark eyebrows rose.

"My reputation?"

It was apparent that Avery was struggling to tell the story, probably fearing its consequences.

"The person who got the item let it slip that you're not willing to uphold your end of the deal. He also told him that you're not a - a pure-blood," Avery stuttered.

"Excuse me?"

Shock and fury clouded in his mind, leaving him cold and numb to the outside world. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't.

No one outside of Slytherin house knew of his less than prestigious family background and those that had been aware of it, but never swore their allegiance to him, have been silenced...

...permanently.

Tom regarded his faithful servant closely, holding up a hand to silence the boy.

No. It wasn't betrayal either.

People like Avery were too weak-minded to challenge him directly and most of them even desired a capable leader, putting their entire future and fortune in his capable hands.

So who was it?

Dumbledore?

Tom frowned, ignoring the nervous Death Eater who was still standing in front of him, most likely waiting for permission to explain himself further.

Dumbledore could've tried to thwart his plans for immortality, but as far as he knew, the old coot was still recovering from his apparently glorious battle against Gellert Grindelwald. If that was even the truth.

He doubted Dumbledore would suddenly make a trip to Albania, regardless of his own personal dealings.

He'd also been careful enough not to leave behind any loose ends after graduating from Hogwarts. So who could've known?

"Leave," he said, dismissing his follower.

The boy didn't dare to ask any more questions and with a bow he said his goodbyes, leaving the house at once.

He stared at his own reflection in the glass, contemplating the events.

There was something he must've missed, something that was vital. And because he loathed not knowing the truth, his decision was swift.

He'd need to plan another trip to Albania.

* * *

Months ago it could've served as an actual legal hideout, but the owner was part of the more dubious crowd, preferring to do his business in the safety of the dark. The roof barely kept the rain from flooding the entire building and what was left didn't inspire people to visit the place. All in all, it was perfect for the black market.

Harry leaned against one of the pillars in the main hall, carefully observing everyone without making it too obvious.

This shady part of the wizarding world was a phenomenon he usually preferred to avoid. It fascinated and disgusted him how wizards and witches could operate under the laws of all that was moral and righteous, pretending to be the good guys.

And yet here he was, surrounded by murderers, terrorists and psychopaths. People were gambling on seemingly everything and trading items that would mean instant death in case they got discovered. The hall was packed and men were getting drunk, leering at the scantily clad waitresses or searching out dark corners for a quick fuck.

The smell of sweat and alcohol almost made Harry gag and he had to pretend he was entirely unaffected, which wasn't easy. He really hated this place. His companion must've noticed, of course.

"You need to loosen up, Potter," Zabini whispered, standing beside him.

Harry snorted, crossing his arms.

"That's easy for you to say. You're practically in your element," he said and Blaise chuckled, eyeing a handsome bloke near the bar.

"Touché." Blaise winked. The scarce light highlighted his sharp features. It was only natural that people were drawn to Zabini. Charisma tended to have that effect. And Blaise had it in spades.

Soon, they were joined by another group of wizards who wanted to draw them into a card game. But Harry's dismissal and broody attitude quickly shattered their hopes. And Blaise wasn't in the mood for fun either, despite pretending to enjoy himself.

They were both tense. Waiting for _that person_ to arrive.

"Do you think he'll come?"

Harry watched the entrance closely, always checking for familiar faces. He didn't know how the first generation of Death Eaters looked like, but he'd be able to recognize Tom Riddle everywhere. And it was disconcerting. Sometimes he wondered why the young image of a Dark Lord had left such a lasting impression on him. It stayed with him beyond the death of a twisted Voldemort at the height of his power. He didn't like to dwell on it.

"He won't be able to stay away from this place. The diadem is too important."

Zabini frowned in thought. "Maybe he's waiting for someone else to acquire it. And then he's going to kill him. He doesn't necessarily have to participate in the auction."

"True," said Harry. "It's just...I have a feeling he'd like to get noticed, make some lasting connections before killing the owner."

And then he felt it.

The crushing, overwhelming force of Riddle's magic appeared out of nowhere, enticing those in attendance to its source. People turned around on instinct and Harry was left wondering how on earth Riddle managed to get so strong in such a short amount of time. He was almost on Voldemort's level, even without decades of experience. It was frustrating.

It was...

"Impressive," Blaise admitted, his voice shaking a bit. "I didn't know he was that...perfect."

And there he was with his entourage of salivating followers, looking around imperviously. The hood of his robe was drawn up, but it didn't distract from the pale features that instantly attracted people to his side.

Harry gritted his teeth, suddenly wanting to smash his arrogant face in. Riddle was already watching the crowd as if inspecting animals that weren't worth his time.

Blaise however was drawing his wand, preparing himself for a fight, but Harry held his hand up.

"Let's wait," he said, following Riddle's movement with his eyes. The young Dark Lord headed for the bar. He must've seen someone important.

"We could take them on, Potter," the other boy replied.

"Not with so many people as witnesses."

Blaise grimaced in displeasure. "You already fought Grindelwald, for fucks sake. There were tons of witnesses, even if they didn't recognize us. Let's get rid of him."

"I also had the element of surprise with Grindelwald. Riddle is a different story entirely. That means we wait."

Blaise threw his hands up in defeat, but didn't comment. It was obvious the other would just throw an Avada at Riddle's back and be done with it.

What Blaise didn't know was the fact that throwing himself into a duel with Riddle so soon and risking the Elder Wand's switch would accidentally make the future Dark Lord even more powerful. And that was something Harry didn't want to do.

Not yet.

* * *

Abraxas stood to the side, watching as his Lord rounded up his latest act of manipulation, skillfully ending the conversation with a German politician.

It's been a while since the last gathering, which he thought was kind of strange. After leaving Hogwarts, the Dark Lord somehow managed to establish a life in reclusion, preferring to keep his followers out of his life. On the one hand it was understandable. Trust was a shaky thing, after all. But on the other hand Abraxas could readily admit that he felt...disappointed. And now this.

The trip to Albania wasn't necessarily something he wanted to do in the first place. But here he was, playing the ever faithful guard.

His Lord turned away from the bar, scanning the crowd for more influential people. It would take a while before they even managed to conclude their business and Nott was already impatiently tapping his foot against the barstool, probably detesting this place as much as he himself did.

Nott would have to curb his emotions, if he didn't want to get tortured before the night was out.

"My Lord, maybe we should ask for the-," Abraxas broke off as soon as he noticed his Lord's distraction. Something must've caught his eye.

He followed the man's gaze, curious to see what made the Dark Lord's attention waver. And then he saw it.

Two figures, both male, were engaged in a hushed conversation, looking as if they wanted to keep their distance from the rest of the crowd on purpose. Abraxas narrowed his eyes.

They were both tall and dressed in standard, black robes that looked a bit strange to the careful eye. It wasn't too obvious, but he could guess that they weren't from these parts. Americans maybe?

Yet he could see why they managed to command so much attention.

Power always worked wonders and the bespectacled man to the left practically reeked of it, once you decided to pay attention to him. It was a hidden force, but not suppressed. And it made Abraxas wonder. The other one possessed a strong aura of sophistication and authority. Both of them were not the type of men you wanted to mess with.

They were worth his Lord's time.

A sideways glance confirmed it.

Sharp eyes were taking in the details of the figure to the left and Abraxas knew this night was far from over.

The lights dimmed and a frail woman walked on stage, announcing the start of the auction.


	2. The Real One

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Thanks for your feedback. ;) Enjoy the next installment. This story won't be as regularly updated as ABV, but I'll try my best :) *exams stress me out* Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Real One**

"The _Glory of Ten Powers_, starting at 640.000 Galleons. 640.000, gentlemen," the auctioneer repeated, pointing at a legendary, enchanted object of Chinese origin.

Her assistant noted down the bidding numbers people conjured with their wands, one after another.

Staring at these people, Harry felt completely out of place, well aware that he looked like he didn't belong in this time. Maybe it was the assortment of wide, ill-fitting suits that most male guests in this establishment wore. Or the funny-looking, grey hats. Or maybe the Wehrmacht uniforms that could be occasionally spotted in the crowd. Why wizards would want to wear Muggle military fashion of a defeated country was another mystery.

In any case, it was like reliving a chapter from a history book, he thought with dismay.

And this particular chapter held many revelations, from what Blaise managed to find out. After World War II, wealthy Albanian pure-bloods had subtly backed the Muggle Communist movement to drive political enemies into exile, which essentially led to a redistribution of wealth and land for both dark and light wizards and witches; without Muggles being aware of it, of course.

It was something that could've never happened in Britain, where the sharp divide between light and dark reigned on.

The exodus of soldiers and forced displacement of millions of people also increased black market dealings for those on the wrong side of history. People were hostile, even resentful of their new government. On top of that, Grindelwald's defeat set new boundaries between Muggles and wizards across Europe; unprecedented barriers that led to more secrecy and espionage even amongst allies.

According to Blaise, the wizarding community in Albania seemed to live in a world of its own. And now they were both witnessing the aftermath of the Muggle and wizarding war.

Harry looked around curiously.

No wonder Riddle managed to become a Dark Lord, if this was the normal state of affairs.

"He's staring at you," Blaise murmured, watching the group of baby Death Eaters and their Lord carefully. Around them, people were taking bids, eagerly participating in this mess and flaunting their illegally acquired wealth. "820.000, everyone," the presenter shouted, encouraging people.

"Let him stare," Harry said, focusing on the auction. "He doesn't know anything."

"But he's curious. He probably thinks we're Death Eater material." Blaise smirked, his sharp gaze never straying too far from Riddle's group.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's nothing to be proud of. You wouldn't want to get caught up in Riddle's spell."

The Slytherin chuckled at that, briefly glancing sideways. "Me?" An innocent look was all Harry got, which made him smile.

"Never. Besides, I'm just explaining the way this works, Potter. We both scream 'look at me, I'm mysterious'. Every leader of his standing would notice that. And exploit it for his own purposes."

Right.

Unfortunately, it was too late for elaborate disguises or fake identities.

Blaise sighed. "That's why it's better to finish him off now. Before he starts to get funny ideas."

"We'll see," Harry replied. Pushing up his glasses, he briefly took in the sight of Riddle's cronies, who were looking in their direction. Too perceptive, the lot of them.

Blaise was right. Soon, they would approach them, forcing a confrontation for one reason or another.

From the corner of his eye, he also noticed Drezner, who made his way over to one of the assistants, swiftly handing over a glass case that would be up for the auction. The diadem. Still untainted by Riddle's soul, but valuable.

"It's time," Harry murmured. The auctioneer announced the final sum of the previous item, before moving on.

At that, Blaise straightened his back. "This is going to get messy," he mumbled, but he still gripped his wand tightly, ready to participate.

Across the hall, Drezner stood in the back, watching the proceedings with a certain amount of arrogance. He was a notorious smuggler and he even looked the part. Besides, the fact that it was him who got his hands on Ravenclaw's diadem proved that whatever they were dealing with wouldn't go according to script. Riddle might have discovered the location of the diadem, but someone evidently managed to find it first.

It was inconvenient.

History was already rewriting itself even before their arrival. And while many developments were similar to what he'd heard of, there were striking differences that had nothing to do with Harry's and Blaise's presence in this time. They couldn't go by the book here, no matter how similar each chapter was to their knowledge of this world.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. Ravenclaw's diadem, gentlemen" the presenter began, announcing the next item.

The price went up fast, climbing to its first million. People began to shout obscenities, obviously caught off guard; not quite believing that someone managed to acquire the lost diadem. Hogwarts was infamous these days, even more so with Albus Dumbledore's recent, 'glorious victory'. And with such a reputation, people were eager to get something that belonged to it. Just to stroke their fragile egos.

Harry nodded and Blaise took that as his sign to begin.

"5.4 Million," he called, raising his wand. The number 77 appeared in glittering, blue lights above his head.

It was a spectacle. And Harry smiled, watching as the entire crowd suddenly grew silent, gaping at Blaise. The auctioneer watched him in disbelief. And from the back, Harry could see Drezner blinking rapidly, not believing his luck. His reserve price for the diadem must've been much less than that.

"Sir...?" she began, but eventually caught herself. "5.4 Million, number 77".

No one would dare to go beyond that. And from the looks Blaise received, they would probably get in trouble after the auction. The diadem was as good as theirs, though. It was worth the unwelcome attention.

Harry risked a glance at Riddle.

And regretted it immediately.

It wasn't worth Riddle's attention. Bloody hell, this was intense. This entire business wasn't worth getting dragged into Voldemort's sphere of influence. Again. Dark eyes remained fixed on him and even from the distance he could see that his followers were ready to act on his command.

Harry bristled at that, trying to ignore the man's probing magic.

It was difficult.

How was it possible that he still got so affected by him? How could a single look from his nemesis make him feel as if he were back in the graveyard, facing his worst nightmare? Even here, in this strange past, which was familiar, but not his own, not even a part of his own world.

It shouldn't matter at all. Riddle's attention, while predictable, couldn't prevent the outcome Harry had in mind. The young Dark Lord wouldn't be able to stop them.

He clenched his hands, feeling nothing but cold sweat and dread on him.

"Sold to number 77," the auctioneer announced and both Harry and Blaise stepped away from their position. Thankfully, the crowd parted and let them through. The sneering looks they received however were unpleasant.

The cacophony of voices buzzed through the air and he heard slurs being directed at them, as people kept jostling each other to take a closer look at the duo. Blaise remained unfazed, donning his pure-blood mask to protect himself. Harry on the other hand just scowled, mindful of the Death Eaters and their Lord staring at them. He couldn't hide his irritation, his anxiety...

He reached the door first, pushing it open to step inside the stuffy room right next to the hall, where people exchanged their goods. But tonight, things would be different.

In the end, all they had to do was getting the smuggler out of his hiding place. He was a difficult man, hardly ever leaving his fortress to conduct more business. But it was their only chance to get the diadem without attacking the man inside his home, potentially risking too much. That's why they had to endure this farce of an auction.

Time travel wasn't exactly lucrative. So neither Blaise nor Harry would ever be able to pay that sum.

Luck was on their side, though. Drezner had listened to the rumors about Riddle in the end, rumors planted by them on purpose. But now he looked suspicious as he assessed the new owners of the diadem. He wasn't stupid. And they expected his resistance.

"Gentlemen, shall we start?" a tall assistant asked with a surprisingly meek voice, gesturing for them to take a seat. Drezner's guards however weren't as welcoming or patient. They eyed both of them as if they were a contagious disease, ready to infect their master.

"Sure," Blaise said, grinning as he flipped the chair backward, taking a seat and resting his elbows on the back. Cocky bastard.

Harry remained standing by the door.

His actions must've alarmed everyone present, but before they could so much as draw their wands, he used his own to spell the door shut.

"Protego," the Slytherin called, lazily waving his wand to protect them from Drezner's people.

"What is the meaning of this-" the auctioneer assistant began, but Harry stunned him, not wanting to drag an outsider into this.

"Accio Ravenclaw's diadem," Blaise said, but the box didn't budge. Drezner gripped it tightly, his meaty hands covering the lid entirely. His smirk told them everything.

"A temporary ward. How clever." Harry tisked, pointing his holly wand at the smuggler. Tension was racking up and the burly men were inching closer, ready to smash Blaise's head in.

"You know, I never wanted to sell this thing in the first place," Drezner began. His gaze was cold and he scratched his beard absently. "It must be valuable for more reasons, if so many people are after my head."

His bodyguards remained silent, obviously waiting for a signal to attack.

"You actually met Riddle?" asked Blaise, frowning.

Drezner simply narrowed his eyes. "The half-blood? No, I'm afraid I don't make deals with subhuman filth. But I wanted to meet my pitiful opponents and here you are."

People around him chuckled and Harry had the sudden urge to wring the man's neck. It was one thing to be a pure-blood fanatic. Even Blaise used to sneer at everything and everyone who wasn't pure-blood. But people like Drezner were beyond saving. In fact, he would've made a great Death Eater.

"Let me guess, it was you who tipped me off about the boy?" It wasn't a question. Drezner's knowing look told them everything.

"Two plus two. You're not nearly as dumb as you look," Blaise mocked, making himself more comfortable on the rickety chair.

"And you'd make a good slave," the smuggler jeered.

Both Harry and Blaise saw red.

"Impedimenta." The jinx aimed for the bastard, but one of his cronies threw himself in front of it, crashing into his master as a result.

The fight began, as seven or so bodyguards began to hurl lethal spells at them. Blaise used his chair, skillfully transfiguring it into solid metal that knocked the closest attacker to the ground.

"The diadem," Harry shouted, using a time-delaying curse to slow down the spells coming at him.

Blaise threw himself forward, ducking as another curse shot past him. Drezner however was already moving the unconscious body away from him, frantically searching for something in the man's pockets.

"He's got a portkey," Blaise called. "We need a ward! Now!" He dodged another curse and aimed for Drezner's head. One touch and they wouldn't find the man again so easily. That's all it took to activate it.

"Right." Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the Latin words. His shield held, but one attacker attempted to slam him against the door. He barely evaded getting a fist in his face. Fuck, they wouldn't give him the time. Another one aimed for his legs.

Green eyes narrowed slightly.

Odd, the magic surrounding these people felt different now. Stronger.

Blaise caught Harry's look and instantly threw his hand back, using everything he had to knock Drezner unconscious. It worked and before the man could activate the portkey, Blaise grabbed the box, swiftly stepping away from the two bodies.

Meanwhile, Harry was getting fed up with those bastards. "Check the box," he said, frantic. His curse blasted the closest three men away from him and Blaise ducked again, trying to avoid the worst.

Having practiced the spell, the Slytherin knew what to do as he murmured the words, briefly touching the tip of his wand against the lid and then using another ancient spell on the shining diadem. Harry did his best to distract the others.

Despite the unconscious state of their master, none of them stopped fighting, which was strange. Harry avoided a _Crucio _and managed to take a closer look at the wizard who stared at him from vacant eyes.

No way...

"Bloody hell, they were imperioed," he called and Blaise looked up, realization dawning upon him.

The door behind them was blasted open and splinters caught Harry's hand, which didn't help the situation. He hissed, realizing that the culprit behind that door must've destroyed his locking spell without much trouble.

Few people could do that. And not many could use the Imperius curse on a bunch of bodyguards without detection.

Riddle could and the boy's... no... the young man's magic invaded the room without warning. Its force was crushing, omnipotent even. No surprise there.

The man stepped inside, vanishing the remaining pieces of the explosion with an elegant move of his hand. Behind him, his faithful lackeys blocked the only exit available and from what he could see, they must've caused quite the commotion. Apparently, the auction was over, if the screams and fire inside the hall were an indication. Harry hoped the guests -criminal as they were- would still manage to escape. He'd seen too many people die already, now getting used to the idea that this world was just as bloody as his own.

"What do we have here, two little birdies caught in a trap?" Nott began, but Riddle's warning gaze made him fall silent.

Harry stepped back, his back turned toward Blaise, who already knew what he had to do. Situations like these could've been avoided, but they had planned for that eventuality as well. He trusted him enough to pull it off.

Raising his head, he met Riddle's unfathomable gaze.

The Dark Lord in the making was a replica of the diary Horcrux, though he radiated even more experience in the Dark Arts; going beyond school limitations. Soon, he would probably attempt to make himself more inhuman-like, reaching the point of no return.

The Elder Wand inside Harry's pocket hummed, ready to be used, but he suppressed his instincts, not breaking eye contact. He was its Master in this strange, new past. He wouldn't be ruled by the wand's power. Time travel be damned. He couldn't lose himself. Not in front of this person.

Riddle's eyes swept over his form and it was such a daring and annoyingly intimate thing to do. It reminded Harry so much of Voldemort, who'd used this tactic for his own dubious reasons. He always succeeded in making Harry feel small, inferior. And strangely self-conscious.

But he wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't the Harry Potter of the graveyard. Or even the one facing the red-eyed menace in the final battle.

No. He was an Unspeakable who'd seen enough and done enough in the Time chamber to make him a different man. He wasn't Dumbledore's man, or the Ministry's poster boy.

"Go," he said calmly and his friend disappeared, using the only portkey available to bypass the wards that had been set up by Riddle.

At once, all Death Eaters or whatever Riddle called them these days raised their wands and pointed them at Harry. A few betrayed their insecurities, probably feeling surprised that their enemies could even use portkeys with Riddle's magic still in place.

Their master didn't so much as blink.

Harry decided to play for time.

"You should do something about that fire," he said, pointing at the hall. The raging inferno would consume the entire building soon. Only the magic inside this room kept the smoke and heat at bay.

Riddle stepped closer to him, his footsteps light and nearly soundless. They were both tall, but somehow the other boy made it seem as if he was in control of this situation. Harry almost expected his scar to start burning again.

The bodyguards who were still imperioed suddenly fell to the ground like puppets whose strings have been cut off. He watched dispassionately as the Death Eaters encircled him.

Harry knew he was surrounded with no way out, since Blaise had used their only emergency portkey. No, the only option left was to fight. And his enemy was probably aware of that.

"I'm surprised you didn't follow your comrade," Riddle said. "Assuming you're actually strong enough to do so."

Harry chuckled lowly, not at all impressed with the assumption. "Give me one minute and your wards will be down."

Dark eyes roved over his features. "One? That's quite disappointing." Without warning, Riddle invaded his personal space, long fingers reaching out to grasp Harry's chin. It was only thanks to his quick reflexes that he managed to avoid Riddle's show of intimidation.

His own hand curled around a thin wrist and Harry watched in dark satisfaction as Riddle's lips thinned, annoyance briefly flashing in his cool gaze. This young Voldemort was still capable of feeling more than pure hatred and it was fascinating to see it up close. Riddle was not distorted by a memory or merely an imprint of a Horcrux this time. He was real, alive and currently breathing in his face.

Around them, the others stood motionless, awaiting more orders, though Riddle didn't care to tell them what to do. His wrist was still entrapped in Harry's strong grip, but that also didn't seem to bother him much. A sharp smile was all the warning Harry got before he was pulled into a Side-Along Apparition.

So much for fighting that bastard.

* * *

The mahogany desk was in a state of abnormal perfection and Harry noticed the stacks of paperwork, carefully placed to the side. The office was definitely filled with plans for world domination and the bookshelf probably contained tomes on the most disgusting dark magic to achieve such a thing. No portraits, no flowers. No decoration. Just practicality. It mirrored Riddle's persona well, Harry thought wryly.

He'd never seen this place before, which meant they must've Apparated to one of Riddle's numerous hideouts.

Riddle stepped away from, wrenching his hand away from Harry in the process. The imprint of their touch however lingered on Harry's skin. And he still needed to take care of his wound, which was now throbbing in time with his erratic heartbeat.

"Left your comrades to clean up your mess?" Harry began, wanting to break the silence. He really didn't want to fight Riddle using the Elder Wand. And his own wouldn't attack its brother.

Damn, the air inside this office was stifling.

Riddle took a seat, steepling his fingers, before taking another long look at Harry.

"It was your mess. I merely saw fit to intervene," Riddle humored him, but the taunting edge to his voice betrayed him, possibly on purpose. "You were so eager to make a spectacle out of yourself."

Anger bubbled inside him, rising to his throat. Riddle's arrogance really knew no boundaries and Harry was really tempted to knock him off his pedestal.

So be it. Harry smiled.

"Funny you say that, _Lord Voldemort_," he said pointedly and watched in delight as Riddle's mask crumbled to dust, revealing the true danger beneath this fake, public persona. Harry reveled in it, basked in having total control. Knowledge was power, after all.

Riddle straightened and his eyes were bright, crimson flickering and rising to the challenge.

"You told the smuggler. You told him about me."

Harry shrugged, affecting innocence. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. You wouldn't know."

"Oh, I think I already do."

Harry didn't believe Riddle would try to use Legilimency on him. Not yet. But it wouldn't take long before this situation escalated. The magic inside the office grew exponentially heavier, a warning not to push too far.

When did he ever listen?

A darker part of him wanted to pounce ruthlessly on every weakness, to return 17 years of misery with equal measure. Killing Voldemort might have satisfied that urge temporarily, but the emptiness that followed Harry into his new life never left. And to be honest, the final battle was all about protecting his loved ones. There wasn't time for revenge, no time for strange thoughts. No time for selfishness.

Not anymore.

Having Tom Riddle at his mercy was an opportunity that made Harry feel more alive, more invigorated. And that realization made him feel incredibly powerful, similar to the rush when he held the Elder Wand in his hand.

He couldn't suppress that feeling. Didn't even want to.

Riddle must've seen something, though. He eyed him strangely for a moment and for the first time Harry averted his gaze. He didn't want Riddle of all people to see...

But it was undeniable. Harry's accidental trip to this unknown past offered an opportunity to be Harry Potter. Possibly for the first time ever.

He didn't notice how Riddle's lips curled up, too caught up in his own bloodlust.


	3. The Elder Curse

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Elder Curse**

Fight of flight. His mind was undecided on that. But it was incredibly difficult trying to pretend that he didn't want to destroy Tom Riddle on the spot. Too bad he couldn't.

Unfortunately, there were quite a few complications to deal with; mainly the Elder Wand he was still carrying on him. He couldn't gauge Riddle's skill in comparison to the Voldemort from his own timeline, but that didn't mean the man in front of him wasn't capable of disarming him. Bloody bastard. All Harry could do now was stand there like an idiot, waiting for something to happen.

He ran a hand through his hair, before turning his back on his nemesis. To distract himself, he examined one of the bookcases in the office, ignoring Riddle's cold gaze and his own racing heartbeat for the moment. Admittedly, the situation wasn't entirely pleasant. But he could only blame himself for his lack of focus. Getting Side-Apparated by the young Dark Lord was a stupid mistake on his part. It should've never happened.

"Slytherin colors," Harry mumbled, eyeing one of the green bookends. It was shaped like a snake.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Putting some distance between them, he reached out for one of the tomes in the top corner, mindful of the wards and strong enchantments that protected every piece of furniture in Riddle's office. He didn't think Riddle would have any incriminating stuff stored away in this particular place, if he felt comfortable enough to Apparate them both here. But it was a nice opportunity to look around, if only for a moment. He felt the man's eyes on him at all times.

Riddle was _intense_. And suspicious of him, of course.

As expected, his own magic rose in warning, alerting Harry to various curses that could hurt him if he actually touched one of those books. Blood-boiling curse, severing charm. The list went on and on.

"My, you're paranoid," said Harry, a bit louder this time. His hand was less than an inch away from the wards.

"Is that so?" Riddle remarked, his voice flat.

Harry turned around slowly, watching the other man through hooded eyes. Unsurprisingly, Riddle remained stoic, his entire attitude reflecting boredom. Though, Harry could sense the lingering danger underneath that mask. If there was one thing in Harry's life that he could count on, it was Voldemort's desire to cause him pain. It didn't even matter in what timeline he appeared. That violence between them. It would always be the same.

Just as Harry moved his hand away from the spot near the wards, Riddle stepped around his desk to approach him, his entire demeanor far too casual for someone who obviously felt differently. The young man, fresh out of Hogwarts, was still the same monster, utterly lost to everything resembling humanity, despite his admittedly innocent appearance. Harry could see that. He could see the madness shadowing his eyes, could feel the absolute disregard the other wizard had for people in general, his own followers included. It was eerie, the looks and his words, and for a moment Harry wished the familiar snake-like features would appear before him, mirroring the soul of this person. Or what was left of it.

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Harry replied, unfazed. Or Pretending to be. "Quite foolish, considering you don't know a thing about me."

Riddle regarded him without emotion. "We can always rectify that, Mr..."

Harry smiled, playing along. "Evans, Harry Evans." He was still a bad liar and from the tightening of the man's lips, Harry could see that Tom wasn't buying any of it. He looked completely dissatisfied with such a simple thing as Harry's name. Maybe he took personal offense at the fact that it was so ordinary and..._so Muggle_. So very much like his own name. Riddle didn't push the issue, though. Didn't call him out on it. Odd.

Instead, he crossed his arms, surveying Harry closely, like a cat watching a mouse, a lurking predator watching its prey. "Very well then, Evans. Care to tell what you intend to do with Ravenclaw's diadem?"

Ah, interrogation it is. Pity he wouldn't get very far with that.

"No." Harry replied, chuckling a bit. Honestly, what did the other wizard expect? For him to just roll over and play the good boy? Just because he was still trying to control his darker emotions when it came to this person, it didn't mean Harry would make it easier for his nemesis.

Riddle leaned slightly against the front of his desk, his arms now dangling lazily at his side. For a horrifying second, Harry felt envious of Riddle and his effortless grace, not to mention his acting ability. It was infuriating and he could have slapped himself for harboring these thoughts. This whole charade screamed superiority and it was so skillfully enacted; it wasn't completely fake either. The young man was putting on a show at all times, never revealing his true self, but his ego was probably the one thing that always came through, the most honest part of his mask.

At Hogwarts, for example, Harry imagined that Tom Riddle would have always made his peers feel inferior in that subtle way of his, even while helping them and sucking up to the teachers. But Harry knew what to look for. Though, there was a difference now. Riddle _should_ have reacted with more violence to Harry's knowledge of his moniker. That brief flicker of anger earlier had been nothing in comparison. Voldemort certainly would've cursed the hell out of him by now.

Making the distinction between Voldemort and Tom wasn't easy, if you already knew the truth.

With a casual movement, Harry angled his body away from him, hiding his nervousness. Maybe Tom didn't want to reveal himself, because he didn't think his unknown opponent was worth the trouble. Sure, Harry had deliberately implied that he knew so much more, wanting to make the other wizard react to it. But Tom had denied him even that. It was confusing. And insulting to think Riddle still didn't see him as a threat.

Well, he'd just have to change that.

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked suddenly, pausing.

"So you can get more information out of me and then what? Kill me afterwards?" Harry clenched his teeth together. "It doesn't make sense. You could've done that back when we-" He suddenly halted, his thoughts already spinning with possible answers. "Unless you didn't want your minions to hear _and_ see any of this?"

Riddle didn't move, didn't even so much as blink. But Harry knew he was on to something. The man wanted privacy, because he didn't actually trust himself while dealing with Harry in public. It could've led to unwelcome results if Harry had put him in his place in front of his followers at the auction. If Tom Riddle was confident in his own power, then he would've attacked Harry right then and there, to make his Death Eaters see how his enemies fell. To cement his legacy.

However, that implied Riddle had actually seen him as a threat back there. Had seen beyond the superficial aloofness Harry had projected. Hell, Harry hadn't even uttered a single word about Voldemort or anything else of importance, before the man in question had kidnapped him.

It was...well... it was flattering. It made Harry feel vindicated for once, knowing and finally seeing the proof that he wasn't the weak, lonely boy from the cupboard anymore or the sacrificial Horcrux lamb. No, he could force people like Riddle to pay attention to something other than his scar and fame. None of these things had ever been achieved by him, after all. They didn't define Harry as a person; only a tool of fate and people more powerful than him. Ironically, a product of Voldemort's choices as well. Yet, it was dangerous to fall for that assumption, to feel like this. Riddle's opinion of him shouldn't matter at all.

His lips twitched. It was hard trying to hide his feelings from his enemy.

Riddle must've seen where his thoughts were going, because he lost his impassive stance and surprised Harry by stepping forward.

"You flatter yourself. It's rather unbecoming, don't you think?" Riddle mused lowly. There was unspoken hunger in his gaze. A readiness to strike and make Harry submit to him. Gone was the impassive attitude, replaced by a Dark Lord in the making.

_I dare you to do it, Riddle. I dare you to try._

Harry was craving that fight. And he was past the point of denying himself anything. Fleeing like a coward was so not in the cards for him. Not anymore. So why not provoke the other further? After all, he held the knowledge of what was to come. Riddle, in comparison, couldn't do much against an enemy he didn't know much about. Not intellectually, at least.

"If you're accusing me of being arrogant, maybe you should look in the mirror."

Riddle remained silent for the moment, considering his words. But Harry watched with an odd sense of detachment as the man's shoulders relaxed, before a brief smile twisted his handsome features.

"Interesting. You have strong opinions. Yet, I know we've never met. How very unsettling." He paused and his smile turned dark. "But there's a solution to that."

On instinct, Harry's hands clenched into fists and Riddle glanced down briefly, obviously seeing it for what it was. A show of weakness. Though, Harry couldn't care less. He would never underestimate this person and he wasn't stupid enough to pretend he was so far above him. Arrogance like that tended to be your downfall. As proven by Voldemort himself.

"And what would that be?" he asked carefully.

_"Legilimens"_

A single word, eyes meeting and gazes held. That was all it took and Harry felt the familiar sensation of Riddle's mind connecting with his own. It was terrible. The magic, of course, was crushing, a force that pushed and pushed, hammering against the walls of Harry's mental shields relentlessly. And he really should have seen that one coming.

But he wasn't too bothered by it. Harry's own magic rose sharply in defense, his experience in the field serving him well against that invasive, nauseating feeling. Months of mental pain and failure in the mind arts had made it necessary for him to train his mind after the war; especially when others had come forward with the brilliant idea that Harry Potter was a fraud, a lucky child that didn't deserve his spot at the top.

Harry threw his magic forward, his walls holding firm against the onslaught. His own hatred for this man was enough to throw him out with violent precision and Harry relished in the moment of absolute control, the power coursing through his veins making him feel high, addicted to it. Merlin, he _loved_ it. The headache would be an annoying side effect, though.

The surprise was masked quickly and Riddle's eyes narrowed in thought.

"Honestly, that tickled," Harry said. "What's next? Torture? I'm starting to think this whole business with you is getting predictable."

Riddle, to his credit, didn't comment, still capable of controlling his emotions in ways that Voldemort never managed to do. It was a strange thing to get used to.

"Give up already. You won't be getting any answers out of me."

To his surprise, Riddle drew even closer, reducing the remaining distance between them as he leaned forward. Teeth flashed and the tension between them was palpable. Harry hated every moment of it.

"I already have my answers, Evans," Riddle replied. "You see, there are only two options left for me to consider. One, my 'friends' did in fact tell you who you're dealing with, inadvertently or not." He peered at Harry closely, watching every subtle twitch, every reaction and probably coming to all the right conclusions. Harry stiffened and Riddle's smile turned indulgent.

"Or my enemies did it." The name Dumbledore was left unsaid between them.

'Or', Harry thought with relish, 'I'm a dimension-traveller and you have no bloody clue at all'. He was careful to hide his reaction.

Riddle didn't wait to see if his suspicions were confirmed. Slowly, he turned away from him, as if dismissing Harry's presence entirely. "It makes no difference in the end. Now, the only thing left to find out is what you intend to do with that information."

"Indeed," Harry mused, licking his lips. They were dry and his throat felt parched.

Riddle's next words however made him stiffen.

"You look remarkably like a Potter. Did anybody ever tell you that?" Riddle's index finger was gliding over the polished desk, as he leaned against it. Harry bowed his head, covering his irritation and violent urges for the moment. Only then did he notice that Riddle wasn't wearing the Gaunt ring.

He didn't however notice Riddle's frown. "Strange, considering there's currently only one heir left to that family."

Well played, Harry thought, cursing himself and cursing Riddle. Of course, the dark wizard had no proof, but Harry couldn't exactly walk around with a glamour all the time, so his background would eventually be called into question, should he decide to reveal himself to the public.

Hell, his fight with Grindelwald could've gone differently, if Dumbledore had arrived just moments earlier.

Suddenly, he felt the wards around the office drop. Riddle took his seat and stared at Harry, looking him up and down.

"I suggest you watch out for your friend. It would be terrible if something happened to him, but then we wouldn't want to get predictable, would we?"

The threat was obvious and cruel and Harry sneered at him in return, gripping his holly wand and Apparating with a sharp crack. Blaise would need his help and he wasn't one to abandon him in exchange for Riddle's insufferable presence.

* * *

A ticking time bomb. That's what Harry Potter was, if one wanted to use disgusting Muggle terms to describe the situation. Blaise leaned back in his seat, his foot tapping impatiently against the dusty, old floor of their rented apartment. Usually, he would have taken the time to make this place somewhat habitable, more up to _his_ standards since Potter's standards were shoddy at best.

But Blaise couldn't muster the strength to care about proper accommodations anymore.

Actually, he had a hard time remembering the days when everything used to be simple, easy to solve for him. Of course, the war had changed him, loath as he was to admit it. He hadn't been active on the frontline, but it was difficult to stay the same when your classmates were dying right beside you. And now with his priorities flipped upside down, he had to adjust to the fact that he was trapped in this strange world, with no way out.

It's been months. Months of research, constantly moving from one place to another, fights and espionage. And more importantly, months that consisted of nothing but watching over the bloody Savior of the wizarding world. It was a thankless job.

If they got back to their own world, the first thing he'd do is kick Potter's ass for putting him through this. Savior or not.

Behind him, the old-fashioned clock chimed, reminding him that Potter should've been back by now. Was he injured, dead? Or was the curse taking over? He had no idea, but waiting for Potter was excruciating, if one didn't know what to expect.

Maybe he would be stuck here forever, possibly alone.

Blaise inhaled deeply, forcibly reminding himself that now was not the time to panic. He needed to be in control. Because he was the only one who could actually be in control, given the state of Potter's magic, his increasing recklessness not counting.

His fists clenched and nausea churned his stomach. He didn't even dare to check the time again.

But it felt like yesterday. Watching, as an irate Harry Potter stumbled into his department and having his supervisor announce that _the Harry Potter_ would be joining the Unspeakables, specifically the group working in the time chamber.

It had come as a surprise, of course. Potter had been carted off right to the law enforcement after the war. No questions asked. Everyone had expected him to become a fine Auror, marry Weaslette and produce a bunch of snotty Gryffindor brats.

Months later, the announcement that he was quitting shocked the entire wizarding community, but Blaise hadn't paid much attention to it anyway. That was until Potter decided to establish himself as a permanent presence in his life. For whatever strange reason.

The Potter who joined Blaise's department had been a different person back then, already changed in ways that couldn't possibly be attributed to the war.

He'd been _angry_ all the time, for example. It wasn't even the normal sort of anger. But the one that made him destroy everything in his path. His supervisor claimed all the boy needed was a calm, relaxing environment to get better, but Potter had thrown himself at his research with a fervor that had been completely unexpected, showing an intellectual and passionate side of himself that made the schoolboy Harry Potter pale in comparison.

Blaise had wisely decided to stay away from him, but that wasn't easily done with Potter asking him all sorts of strange questions about time, space, wands, magical barriers. And from then on, things had simply spiraled out of control.

And Potter was still refusing to tell him more about the Elder Wand he'd acquired from Grindelwald. Though, Blaise had managed to put two and two together, knowing that Potter's curse had something to do with it.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted with the arrival of another person. The wards around their apartment groaned, before granting him access and Blaise stood up, watching as Potter stumbled inside the living room.

He could've sighed in relief. But of course that was undignified, so he settled for the Slytherin option, berating his fellow dimension-time traveller instead.

"What took you so long?" His hand curled around Potter's elbow and he helped him to his seat, watching as the other man slumped against it, as if he'd come straight out of an epic battle and was now too tired to hold himself upright.

Green eyes narrowed. "I was held back. Riddle didn't exactly make it easy for me," he replied.

Blaise scoffed, leaning against the table as he stared down his nose at him. "Yeah, I can see that." He inspected Harry's form shrewdly. "Your pupils are dilated. Did you use too much magic again?"

A hand, permanently disfigured by the words 'I must not tell lies' slapped against the surface of the wooden table. "No, I'm not that stupid. It's just that-"

Potter looked away, dropping his mask. A mistake. It was something Blaise needed to teach Potter. One should never drop his defenses, not even in the presence of his allies. They could always stab you in the back, after all.

"Could've fooled me, really. Your magic is out of control again. Something must've happened."

"I'm trying to tell you, alright," Potter snarled, looking up again. Blaise merely raised his eyebrows, having gotten used to Potter's mood swings. It was another thing they'd have to deal with. How to control yourself, despite the curse.

Potter sighed. "It's Riddle. His magic is affecting mine. I don't even know if it recognizes me or not, but he tried to invade my mind."

Blaise frowned in thought. Of course, Potter's magic would act out in that case, but he wondered if there was more to it. In any case, they needed to fix this if they wanted to return back home. Potter's secrets weren't his to keep, not anymore.

He pointed at the diadem he'd left untouched and Potter's gaze swiveled around. "So it's just the cup, the locket and the sword that we need to retrieve," he mumbled.

"Items rightfully belonging to Hogwarts," Blaise recited, staring at the shining diadem. "You said both the cup and the locket are in Smith's possession. And the sword of Gryffindor-"

Potter nodded, holding up his hand. "Still at Hogwarts. It's the last one we need to get. I don't think Riddle would've gotten his hands on the cup and locket already. At least, not according to our timeline."

They both fell silent, knowing that it meant nothing, since they hadn't exactly travelled back in time; or were changing their future right now. Instead they had accidentally, yet successfully managed to land themselves in another dimension. It made the job of fixing Potter easier, yet it was also more difficult to get back. They had never planned for this outcome.

"So a visit to Smith it is," Blaise murmured and Potter inclined his head, finally getting his emotions under control.

"It's better to do it sooner rather than later. I don't know if Burke already sent him to negotiate the price, but Riddle is suspicious of us. I don't want to run into him."

Blaise grunted, feeling displeased. He still believed killing Tom Riddle would be the better option. Why chase after something under pressure just because your enemies wanted it too? And Potter was more powerful than Riddle. More experienced in battle. Obviously, there was something the idiot wasn't telling him and he was getting tired of this whole thing.

"Fine, we'll be leaving tomorrow."

Potter gazed at him, his eyes showing concern. Was it for him? Or was he merely afraid? At times, it was easier trying to pretend Potter was a machine, not capable of feeling fear. It would make Blaise feel... safer.

He'd never admit it, of course. Friendship was a tricky thing. And he wasn't friends with Potter. He just wasn't.


	4. New Year

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: Thanks for your comments and interest in this story. :)

* * *

**Chapter 4: New Year**

_December 1998_

The bed was marginally more comfortable than his previous one at the Dursleys. Not much luxury here. Even the blankets didn't help, thin and frayed as they were.

In any case, Regulus Black must have preferred the hard stone floor to this. Or maybe he liked it that way. Who knew?

Harry didn't, but he was so used to waking up with back pain and a stiff neck, he didn't much care. And honestly, he was finding it even more difficult to sleep in a comfortable bed after the ordeal of the second war. The Black ancestral home was still much better than a magical tent.

Grimmauld Place hadn't been renovated at all, although he'd planned on doing a couple of changes in the near future. Right now, Harry didn't have the strength nor the patience to deal with it. Besides, not many people visited him these days, so he didn't see the point.

Harry stared at the ceiling of Regulus' old bedroom, his mind wandering elsewhere. Walls, beds and portraits disappeared in his mind, only to be replaced with memories and daydreams; another habit that had escalated since the end of the war. He couldn't focus on the present.

Auror training was not going well.

Sure, he didn't have trouble with the technical aspect of it, the stealth exercises, the magical theory behind tracking spells and various detection charms against Dark artifacts. No, he should've felt right at home after seven years of fighting Voldemort. And he would have, if his magic wasn't going haywire.

A month after he defeated the Dark Lord, Harry had noticed the first signs of trouble. Spells grew more potent, curses more destructive, charms became deadly weapons. Household spells, he didn't even want to try.

How was he supposed to disarm a fellow trainee, if his magic practically forced Harry to smash the poor man against a wall? Or how about that time he went through healing examination and almost managed to skin a patient alive instead of healing his burns?

He'd never had those problems before. Well, not counting the fact that his Disarming Charm had always been a bit out of the norm. But now he did.

And people noticed, of course. His supervisors did, though they liked to turn a blind eye to Harry's issues, merely on account of his Boy-Who-Lived status. The excuses ranged from love problems to Harry trying to mess up_ on purpose, _just to make others shine; because he was just that modest.

Idiots.

Senior Auror Bailey had clapped him on the back, winking at Harry, before giving him a passing mark on his latest tracking exam.

Harry hated it all. The preferential treatment sickened him, even more so after he'd left school. And worse, he couldn't even vent his frustrations, because people wouldn't believe him anyway. They would dismiss his concerns, think that it was just trivial nonsense. Anything to keep him tied to the ministry. Anything to keep the almighty and flawless image of the hero alive.

Harry Potter wasn't allowed to be human.

It shouldn't matter at all what they thought. But that was kind of hard to hold onto, when your career depended on it. Harry would have to endure the public's opinion even if he decided to become a monk.

Unfortunately, he would pass exams with flying colors despite his issues. Harry knew that. And he'd make a fine Auror maybe, but the thing was, it wouldn't have happened if his name hadn't been immortalized. He couldn't even prove himself out there, in the real world, like a normal person.

If some regular Joe harmed a patient or colleague during training, just because his magic was out of control, his ass would've been thrown out of Auror academy faster than you can say Quidditch. Unfortunately, that was not the case with Harry. Which meant the only responsible thing left to do was to resign; or to do something drastic, something Dark Lordish enough to get people off his back. After all, Harry Potter could play on both sides of the chess board, according to the public. There was no in between for someone like him.

Harry sighed, putting his arms behind his head.

Could he resign?

Sure. But then what? He didn't have any other career options left, nothing that inspired him to live for the moment.

Fighting bad guys, no matter how ridiculous and cliché that looked, was the only thing that made him forget the numbness and boredom of life after Voldemort. The adrenaline, the heady rush of power, the urge to capture...destroy...

...kill.

It was getting worse.

Thoughts like that belonged to Harry's enemies. The murderers who lusted after spilled guts and more blood, the politicians who filled their pockets after getting rid of another body. He wasn't like them. He was not a killer, strictly speaking. Hadn't harmed anyone during the war, if it could be avoided. Certainly, he hadn't enjoyed watching Voldemort's curse backfire, although it had been the only solution to end this back then. If his friends knew how he felt, hell, if anyone knew that Harry wasn't celebrating their victory, they would ask questions.

Those emotions right now evoked a fickle reminder of days against Bellatrix Lestrange, the few people in Harry's life that made him want to go that way. Not even Voldemort had managed to turn Harry into his worst nightmare. And now that he was gone, Harry's loss of control became that much more obvious. If anything, it did make him look more like a new Dark Lord.

He _needed_ to resign. For his sake and for all the people he'd sworn to protect. Families, children, the innocent. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself, if he accidentally killed a civilian on duty just because his magic was messed up.

Harry stared at the broken, old chandelier suspended from the ceiling. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"Harry," a voice called, as footsteps echoed off the thin walls. Seconds later, Hermione opened the door to his room, poking her head inside. Turning around, Harry flung the blanket off his tired body, bare feet touching the hard floor.

"Hey." Rubbing his eyes, he adjusted his glasses, dispelling his gloomy thoughts for a moment. Hermione gave him a small smile, closing the door behind her.

"I've been looking for you. You left the ministry early."

True, but he'd done that for weeks now. Socializing with people he didn't care about was a chore, completely unnecessary.

He stifled a yawn, patting the spot beside him. "Results came in. I didn't want to waste my time talking to McLaggen of all people," he said. "He was already bragging about his perfect scores."

Hermione grimaced, most likely remembering her own interactions with the boy.

"Well, that's understandable. It doesn't help that you keep besting him at the practical part."

"And theory," Harry replied, grinning. McLaggen joining the Aurors had surprised everyone. Harry held no particular dislike for the boy anymore. Not after the final battle, when McLaggen had finally shown that he wasn't just the embodiment of Gryffindor's worst. But Auror training with him wasn't a nice experience. Too much exposure to McLaggen's massive ego.

Hermione sat down on the bed and they fell silent. It was kind of awkward. More so than usual. Talking to people had never been easy for him, but he couldn't quite get rid of the idea that something had been lost along the way, something that had tied them all together for so many years. Ron and Hermione had moved on, that was clear. They were living their lives to the fullest. Harry didn't even know where to begin.

"How are things going at Hogwarts?" Harry asked finally, just to break the atmosphere.

Hermione had returned back to school, wanting to study for her N.E.W.T.s properly instead of choosing the easy way out.

Harry was wondering if he should have heeded her advice. Another year at Hogwarts would've meant another year away from...this. But memories of Hogwarts just caused his stomach to clench unpleasantly. He didn't think he could handle being cooped up inside the castle, even though he'd always called it home. And somehow he just knew he would face the same problems there.

Anyway, obtaining N.E.W.T.s wasn't the main issue. He could always self-study and send in an application to the ministry, but Harry didn't have the time now.

Hermione brushed a strand of brown hair away, her gaze pensive.

"To be honest, it's difficult. School work is okay, but too many students are traumatized. The professors have a hard time trying to keep everything in order." Pressing her lips together, Hermione stared at her hands.

"Didn't McGonagall hire more assistant professors to help out with that?" Harry asked. He remembered McGonagall's distressed fire-call. "She asked me to tutor DADA classes."

"Did she? You never told me that."

Harry shrugged, not finding it important anyway. He had refused the offer for obvious reasons. Even teaching these days would cause him to lash out at somebody. People were safer if they stayed away from him.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously, though she didn't press the issue. "It's just that most of the professors aren't experts on counseling and providing emotional support. But that's what everyone needs." Harry noticed that there was a heaviness clinging to her shoulders. Hermione looked fragile. Her expression right now mirrored Harry's own at his worst.

"Too many students lost friends, family members," she continued. "Too many people were tortured by the Carrows. It's not something they can just forget." She paused, gripping the bedsheets tightly. "Slytherin house is basically empty, but those that stayed, even first years get harassed by the rest of the school."

"So it's basically worse than ever before," Harry concluded. Reaching out, he grasped Hermione's hand, squeezing it briefly, trying to offer some comfort. He should've known. Hermione's letters had alluded to it, but he should've guessed that the rift between pure-bloods and Muggle-born students would grow, tearing potential friendships apart and creating more prejudice.

The war hadn't changed this society in the slightest; in fact, it brought ideological differences to the surface. Difference that were irrevocable. The persecution of Dark Wizards for example became a sport within the ministry, sometimes more out of guilt and deflection, but often out of revenge. Dark wizards had trouble breathing without offending someone at some point.

He'd talked to Kingsley about it, months ago, but the Minister was already neck-deep in reforming the Wizengamot. He didn't have the time to change everything at once, despite agreeing with Harry. Thus it fell onto Harry's shoulders, the burden of fame and reputation as a Dark Lord killer nearly breaking his back in two. A heavy burden indeed, for an Auror trainee that is. He didn't envy Kingsley at all.

"I want to do something," Hermione continued. "I want to change the system, dedicate my time and work to help people."

"Including Slytherins?" Harry asked lightly. Ron would've looked scandalized, scoffing at the mere idea that these kids needed help.

Hermione smiled. "Yes, including Slytherins." And Harry couldn't have been more proud. The time for house prejudice belonged to the past, at least for him.

"People want to help," he replied. "But most adults grew up with two wizarding wars breathing down their neck. They just passed their beliefs onto the next generation. Take Ron for example. He's still struggling."

"I know," Hermione whispered, looking regretful. "We had it easier, I guess. You and me. But other Muggle-borns at school don't see it that way at all. It's like they can't even think for themselves." She shook her head, staring at Regulus' portraits on the desk. "I don't know how to change their minds."

"It's not our responsibility," Harry murmured, eyeing her carefully. He was so bloody sick of adults who expected others to change the world; to do their dirty work. "We can help, but people like McGonagall and Kingsley have the power to influence others," he said.

"And you don't?" Hermione asked with no small amount of disbelief.

Harry's eyes grew sharp.

"Do you expect me to?" His hands clenched. Schooling his features, he tried to act indifferent, but he could already feel his magic rising, uttering a silent challenge.

Hermione must've seen something in his expression, because she lowered her head, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Anxious. Was she afraid? The guilt and shame came just as quickly, temporarily beating down his magic into submission. Merlin, this was Hermione.

What was wrong with him?

"I-," he began, not knowing what to say.

Hermione nodded in understanding. "It's still happening, isn't it?"

It hadn't been the first time hatred had begun to flow through his veins_,_ igniting his blood with inexplicable rage just because someone said the wrong things to his face. But this was his best friend. And it's not like she was wrong. He did have the power to change the future. His name worked wonders in the political field. Harry's eyes closed and he had the sudden urge to rub his scar.

"Yes, it's still acting up," Harry admitted, because he couldn't lie to her. Didn't want to. Hermione was the only person who listened to him, the only one he could confide in, although telling her the details made him wary.

Hermione crossed her legs, contemplating something. "I didn't mean to tell you what you should do. Everyone knows how much you gave up for the wizarding world. It's just that,-" She sighed again. "It's just that people would listen to you, naturally."

"I know. But I don't want that kind of attention." He wished others would understand this.

"Good," Hermione said, smiling a bit. "You should do what _you_ want. Besides, having the power to influence people, and actually doing it are two different things. There's no obligation to it, " she said.

"I wouldn't be of use to them anyway," Harry retorted, scratching the back of his head. "Not with the issues I have."

His friend nodded. He liked that about Hermione. She wasn't nearly as judgmental as she'd been in the past. The war had changed them all, but they also grew up. Became adults.

"Did you see the healer?" Hermione asked.

Harry could've laughed, if it wasn't such a pathetic and miserable affair.

"Healer Number 24. I'm not sure though. I probably lost count after the first ten. Most of them just keep saying the same. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong with me. Off you go, Mr. Potter."

"That's because you didn't tell them anything about the Horcrux. But it's the only thing that makes sense," she said, crossing her arms.

"Does it, Hermione?" He stared at his own hands. "My magic isn't different. I'm not more powerful or anything like that. I'm just-"

"Angry?" Hermione blinked. "Harry, I'm sorry to say this, but you always had a bit of a temper." At Harry's mock affronted look, she chuckled. "If your emotions make your magic act out, then it's definitely more psychological. But that doesn't mean you being a former Horcrux has nothing to with it."

"But it's not for certain," Harry replied, giving her a look. "Honestly, you make it sound as if I'm just angry, because I somehow miss the soul piece." Harry smiled, though he didn't think it was funny. "I mean this is Voldemort we're talking about."

Disgust coiled through him at the thought. But he couldn't deny that there was a tiny part of him, slumbering in the deepest corner of his mind, that reacted to the name. Voldemort had always made him feel strongly, like a wound that wouldn't heal, even with the destruction of the soul piece; another scar left by the madman, but this time on the inside.

Hermione flinched. Though, she didn't change her mind, if her knowing look was anything to go by.

"If it's not the Horcrux, then there's no other option left," she began. "The healers couldn't have been that incompetent. They tested you for every magical malady in existence."

"And a few that don't exist," Harry replied wryly, remembering one healer who insisted Harry had somehow caught Fairy Fungulus native to the forgotten sea kingdom Heracleion. Luna would've been proud.

Maybe, he should just tell Hermione the truth. It's not like it would hurt too much, although he didn't like sharing this secret. Already, he could tell that everything inside him balked at the idea.

Rising to his feet, Harry left the bed, feeling Hermione's curious stare at his back. His hands were sweaty, he noticed, as he opened the drawer to retrieve the items that had caused him too many sleepless nights.

Hermione drew closer, noticing the way Harry's shoulders tensed. He couldn't hide anything from her.

With careful hands, he put a small, wooden box on the desk. It was plain on the outside, but he'd charmed it with so many curses and jinxes that it would take time just to dismantle them all. Drawing his wand, he set to the task, his magic emitting a pleased hum now that he was using it again. It hurt, though. It burned inside him. And the urges, all these feelings broke free. It was overpowering and he recalled why he'd left the ministry early today. McLaggen had been an annoying pest, true. But there had been others, during training, people that had made him seethe just by looking at Harry, their eyes full of worship.

Hermione grew alarmed, but thankfully she kept silent, watching as Harry took down the last safety measures he'd installed on the box.

"There's another possibility," Harry muttered, picking up the lid and setting it aside. "I didn't tell you anything about it. And the healers wouldn't even know where to begin."

The inside revealed both the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand, nestled together as if depicting a reunion of two lost brothers. Fitting.

Hermione gasped.

"But I thought you returned the wand," she said, obviously shocked.

"And I did," Harry replied. "It was in Dumbledore's hands. And I dropped the stone somewhere in the forest, remember?" He was staring at the objects, feeling drawn to them, as usual. "One week later, I wake up only to see them on my desk again." His fingers were gliding over the spot, where he'd first found both Hallows. "I thought, maybe someone else did it, but no one knows anything about them. I even tried to put them inside my vault. The next day, they were safely back with me."

Hermione suddenly reached out with trembling fingers for the stone, but Harry's warning stare must've broken that compulsion. She shook her head, as if to get rid of something. "Don't touch them," he warned. "I don't know what they'll do if someone else uses them. Or what I will do," he said bitterly, running his hand through his hair. Mounting frustration and anger accompanied him every time he thought about the Hallows. He knew. He just knew that they made him think these strange things. Made him want to do the worst and more.

"So, you think it's because of the Hallows that your magic is out of control?" Hermione asked carefully, still staring at them. Her mind was probably already going over her mental catalogue, putting the pieces together and trying to come up with a solution. Harry didn't think there was one. Besides, it was merely a theory. He had no proof. Though, it sounded better and more comforting than the Horcrux theory.

"Well, it's suspicious that they keep reappearing. Or that I feel like I should, I don't know, protect them," he said. That was an understatement. The feeling was more akin to a fierce lioness who was protecting her cubs. Stupid and completely irrational. "That's why I didn't tell the healers about the Horcrux or the Master of Death issue. There aren't any books that would help with that." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought there would be other ways to repair my magic. So I gave a brief overview, described my symptoms, but they couldn't come up with any spells or potions that would help me out."

"That leaves us with two possible causes, then," Hermione said, apparently sticking to her Horcrux theory. "Or maybe it's a combination of the two. Maybe the loss of a soul piece is making you want to find a replacement. And maybe you being the Master of Death is messing with your magical core. You didn't get a power boost or anything like that."

"No," Harry said. "My magic is still my own. It's simply acting out whenever I feel stressed out, or when I fight or when people say things I don't like. But even when I try to heal someone, doing basic Auror work, it starts to mess with me. Though, most of the time it happens during mock duels and stuff," he confessed.

There was a third theory to it, Harry thought.

Maybe it was all him.

He remembered Sirius' words. Every wizard and witch had a darkness and light inside him. But the choices they made decided the outcome. That darkness, Harry thought, must be it. He didn't believe he was going bad or anything like that, but surely he was just human. More so than ever before, now that the Horcrux was gone.

Hermione had called it a psychological issue and there was a certain truth to it.

For example, the vindictiveness he felt at times could be explained if he visited a therapist. War had traumatized him, after all. But the irrational pull towards the Hallows, including his cloak, disturbed him. But maybe it was meant to be. And he was only finding it out now.

"Did you try using the Elder Wand to test out your magic?" Hermione suddenly asked, making Harry stiffen in apprehension.

"No." He shuddered to think what would happen if he decided to use that particular wand against his opponents. However, Hermione's words brought up another idea, something he hadn't considered before.

"My wand," he said. "I repaired it with the Elder Wand. Do you think-?"

Comprehension dawned on Hermione. "That it might have done something to your own wand? That could be it." Her eyes lightened with newfound excitement. "Do you still have Draco's wand?"

Upon realizing what she wanted him to do, Harry nodded, feeling his own anticipation rise. Reaching out for another desk drawer, he quickly rummaged through the contents, until his hand grasped the hawthorn wand he'd used in the final battle, safely tucked away in a piece of cloth. He hadn't returned it yet, though he planned to talk to Malfoy at some point.

Grasping it firmly in his right hand, he murmured "Orchideous" and a beautiful bouquet of flowers appeared. Well, not just a bouquet. Beside him, Hermione gasped in shock.

Suddenly, the entire bedroom was transforming, turning into an exotic garden. Flowers of every color appeared on the bed, near the book shelves, blooming right out of Regulus' portraits. The stone floor began to glow, green vegetation sprouting out of nothing but dirt and dust.

"You're right," she said finally, a bit breathless. Harry murmured "Finite_", _his eyes blurring with the sight of too many colors appearing at once. "The Hallows have something to do with your magic being out of control. Now we only need to find out how they do it?"

Setting Malfoy's wand aside, he carefully picked up the box again and began to ward it with his holly one, the magic inside him buzzing strangely. He'd known his theory was the better one, but it was nice to know that they could finally dig deeper.

"I'm not going to visit another healer. It's a waste of time," he said. His hands trembled slightly, the amount of magic he'd used not making it easier for him. "We need someone else."

Lowering herself onto the chair in front of her, Hermione leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "You want to quit Auror training, right?" she said, worried; taking in Harry's physical state.

Again, it was no use lying to her.

"I don't want anything to happen. It's already worse than ever before, Hermione. I'm not going to risk it."

His friend nodded again. He knew that she wanted him to return back to Hogwarts with her, but even she must've seen that he was in no state to surround himself with so many vulnerable people.

"This is actually something I wanted to talk about," she began. "I met Malfoy at the ministry today."

Harry blinked.

"Really? What was he doing there?" he asked. The last thing he'd heard after the trials was the verdict. Malfoy had been placed under house arrest. Obviously, something must've happened for him to be allowed to leave the manor. Hermione noticed his confusion.

"He can leave the manor with a guard. I don't know how he did it, though. They aren't talking that much about Malfoy at Hogwarts. Some people think he bribed a ministry official."

"Bullshit. It wouldn't work." Harry said, rolling his eyes. Kingsley worked hard against corruption, firing politicians who had a tiny link to bribery left and right. And no one wanted to associate himself with the name Malfoy anymore. Honestly, Draco was left without allies or even associates that would help him out.

"Exactly. I didn't ask him, of course." Hermione frowned, remembering the encounter. "But apparently he was only there to visit a friend who works at the Department of Mysteries."

"A friend?" Raising his eyebrows, Harry tried to think of someone who had connections to Malfoy and a clean reputation to get a spot in that particular department. Unspeakables were creepy, he thought. At the ministry, Harry had always avoided their stares in the corridors, feeling like an animal, or more like a new species ready to be dissected by them.

"Blaise Zabini works in the time chamber," Hermione replied and Harry vaguely remembered a dark-skinned boy who'd been part of Malfoy's crowd at some point. During Slug Club, Zabini had made his displeasure known, disliking both Hermione and Harry for obvious reasons. But as far as Harry knew, Zabini had kept his record clean during the war. But that didn't warrant getting to work with the Unspeakables. He'd certainly never met the boy there. Of course, that wasn't saying much, because Unspeakables tended to arrive at the ministry at ass o'clock and only left their cave during lunch break.

Seeing his disbelief, Hermione hurried to explain. "He took his N.E.W.T.s this summer and for whatever reason he got accepted without much fuss. I don't know the details." She paused, her frown deepening. "But apparently, the department is working on something big."

"Yeah, I know." Kingsley had told him all about their interest in the Founders of Hogwarts, although Harry hadn't shared the news with Hermione or Ron. He'd kept an eye on that, simply because those items had been Horcruxes once and Harry didn't have the faintest idea if that was something the department was interested in or not. Though, the head of the Unspeakables had requested to see the sword of Gryffindor. Both Kingsley and the Headmistress had refused.

"It's just that I think this is something that might help you, Harry," Hermione said, staring at him. "Zabini was with Malfoy and he was carrying a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard."

Harry stared.

What?

* * *

One week before Christmas, Harry Potter handed in his resignation, leaving a sputtering, red-faced Auror Bailey behind. The Prophet got a hold of the story and their article caused a mass eruption of outrage, confusion and even accusations of a new, rising Dark Lord. It was funny. Utterly mad, but funny.

Harry had never felt better, having finally pushed past his initial feelings of doubt.

It was good. Doing something for yourself. A new experience. He'd greeted New Year with an application to N.E.W.T.s exams, and studied for it together with Hermione, although she had still been at Hogwarts at that time, while he was living at Grimmauld Place, struggling with his magic. Ron had been confused and worried at first, but nevertheless he accepted the fact that Harry wouldn't be there with him during training. Perhaps it was for the best.

There was that one time Harry had used his considerable influence to get what he wanted. Even without N.E.W.T.s, he immediately got accepted in the Department of Mysteries. And the creepy, hooded figures from before suddenly became his colleagues, people who no longer simply stared at Harry, but decided to approach him as soon as they were on Level 9, away from prying and curious eyes.

Another bonus was the distinct feeling of equality. He was still Harry Potter, he was still a puzzle, but his fellow researchers didn't make him feel like a savior. He was just the odd one out. And it was awesome.

Harry also liked his new robes. Now he could stare at others just as much, could ask all the awkward questions without having people judge him for it. He even persuaded his new supervisor to work in the time chamber, which wasn't a problem at all.

He still avoided the Hall of Prophecies, though.

He avoided the veil and trained himself in Occlumency just to make his memories of Sirius disappear behind solid walls. He couldn't afford another distraction, not with what he intended to find out. He also used that particular skill against those that discredited him for his choices, people who thought they could challenge Harry.

And he met Blaise Zabini.

* * *

_December 1945_

Tom closed his eyes, focusing on the link, which pinpointed the exact location of the diadem. The boy, Evans and his friend had a hideout near Norwich, a city gravely affected by the Second World War. He could tell that their hideout was protected by strong wards. Even from a distance Tom could feel how muted the spell had become after Evans' friend had stolen the diadem. It would be hard to retrieve it in the future, even with his invention of the locator spell in place.

Though, he'd had the foresight to seek out the smuggler's bodyguards before the start of the auction, he still cursed the fact that someone had thwarted his plans so thoroughly.

It was a first for him. This feeling.

It wasn't defeat, but something close to it. And just the thought alone tasted like something out of a nightmare. That's why he didn't dream much, took measures to prevent such weaknesses. His subconscious thoughts tended to betray Tom during sleep.

He needed that diadem. He needed to get rid of these petty needs and habits that humanity shackled him with. Repulsive. That's what it all was. Even now, his mind was wandering back to the day when he'd first met Evans; had let him go like the prey that he was. Only to catch him later on.

He wanted to play with the boy first. It was true. This game has only just started, but he could already tell that it would be quite enjoyable. After all, Evans had his own secrets. Killing him without uncovering them would be another taste of defeat, a game not lost, but with no considerable reward.

And after that, after killing those two, after getting everything he wanted out of them, Tom would finally be one step closer to infinity. No more games necessary.


	5. Strange Universe

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Strange Universe**

"Time is fluid," Harry murmured, gazing at the strange floating globes inside the Time room. The lights emanating from them changed colors rapidly before turning white. The whole process repeated itself a couple of times, before the globes began to vanish, never to appear again in the same form. He'd never seen anything quite like it and Harry had a hard time trying to wrap his mind around the whole concept.

"It certainly isn't static," someone replied and Harry turned his head slightly, eyeing the tall Unspeakable next to him warily. He'd forgotten his name, but names seemed so insignificant in this chamber. Identities became secondary, when faced with the vastness of the universe.

Beside him, Blaise nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

"The ministry doesn't know what you're doing," Harry said, turning his attention back to the light show. If Kingsley knew, the entire section of the Time room would be dismantled. Manipulating time was a grave offense, but withholding information even more so.

Harry was currently witnessing the birth and death of universes. Each globe represented a different timeline, a different universe contained in a glittering sphere of dark and light, clashing and creating colors, before fading away. All around them Unspeakables continued to work in silence, rearranging Time Turners without care and ignoring the devastating beauty of life and death as if it were a common occurrence. Perhaps it was. The chamber's stone walls almost seemed to close in on them, separating the group of Unspeakables from the rest of the department. No one was allowed to enter anyway, with the exception of Kingsley and his assistant.

It had taken months for Harry to gain enough insight into their work, but now that he understood what was going on, the ethical side of him, the Auror wanted to protest.

"It would land us in trouble, Mr. Potter," the Unspeakable said, shrugging a bit. "But it's worth it, don't you think?"

True.

Harry watched as one of the globes floating near him suddenly grew bigger, as if it could sense his presence. It almost blinded him. He blinked, doing nothing as he watched it vanishing again.

"We're playing God." The words spilled out of him and he clenched his hands, unsettled. Merlin, this was unreal.

Blaise tsked, ignoring Harry as he stepped forward, cupping one of the globes. The colors changed slightly, turning red and Blaise smirked. The sleeves of his cloak bunched up at his elbows and Harry couldn't help but gasp when Blaise's gloved hands turned the globe around, making it spin, before it floated away to join the rest. Unbelievable.

"Those are people," he breathed, not daring to move.

The other Unspeakable began to laugh, the sound echoing off the walls in a pleasant way.

"You have much to learn, Potter." The man patted his back, before turning away, still chuckling. Harry watched him go, taking in his leisured pace. None of the Unspeakables seemed to grasp it. Or maybe Harry was too sensitive to the whole idea of universes floating all over his head.

"What he meant to say is that you don't know whether these globes contain people, in the traditional sense," Blaise suddenly whispered, shaking his head.

Following the other, Harry returned to their workplace, eyes wide as the globes floated away to make room for them. Weird.

"In the traditional sense?" he asked. These things were universes, weren't they? Of course, they contained life forms of some sort. And Blaise was playing with them, doing Merlin knows what to the space inside. Making it spin couldn't be healthy.

Pushing the stack of papers aside, Blaise began to search for his quill, finding it amongst the mess of parchments.

"I believe Muggles have a term for that, don't they? Alios, Alis?"

"Aliens," Harry corrected, staring at him.

"Right." Blaise shook his head. "In any case, we don't exactly know what's inside them. We only know that there's something inside that mirrors our world in some way. There could be planets filled with magic, or planets without it. People is an arbitrary concept, Potter." Eyeing Harry with amusement, Blaise's smirk widened. "Your judgment of life forms is irrelevant for time and space. After all, we are also one of those globes." He paused, quill dancing on one of the parchments to note something down. "Perhaps someone is also playing with us right now, making us spin."

Harry stood frozen, not quite seeing the humor in this.

He still didn't think it was right to withhold this information from Kingsley. The fact that Unspeakables could make universes visible to the naked eye, making it possible to manipulate the flow of time and space through them was a scientific discovery worth sharing. It would help people around the world understand their own a bit better. If only to explain how utterly insignificant they were.

Though, manipulation was the wrong word for it, maybe. The globes represented universes and normally that wouldn't be much different from the stuff that Muggle NASA was doing. However, the enchantments that monitored the globes also recorded the merging of universes and what it meant for concepts such as linear timelines.

Harry had read the theory extensively. It was called Novikov Self-Consistency Principle. In short, every change you created in your life as a time traveller was already predetermined in your existing reality. And that was something he had experienced on his own while saving his godfather.

One elderly Unspeakable had even tested that theory by sending small animals such as rats and birds through one of these globes, seeing them reappear completely unchanged after a second or so. At that time, it had oddly reminded Harry of the Vanishing Cabinet. One globe would suck them right in, and another would spit them out, making the animals look confused but otherwise unharmed.

On the other hand, Harry knew that you could also mess with time, if you were careless enough. And that's why the globes vanished quite often. Universes were dying and time was collapsing in itself during those moments.

None of them had ever figured out what caused a universe to be born or to die. Life and death. A mystery Harry had been confronted with since the day he was born. And died.

Lips thinning, green eyes gazed at the bell jar standing innocently on a desk near the entrance. The hummingbird getting reborn time and time again was just another example. It was a sight that reminded him of the battle in his fifth year. The grotesque baby head of the Death Eater on an adult's body would never fail to make him shudder.

"Don't take it too seriously, Potter. You'll just get a headache," Blaise said, following his gaze.

Easy for him to say, Harry thought. Zabini wasn't struggling with an unknown curse that could literally kill people just by being near him, if he didn't figure out what was wrong with his magic.

Unclenching his fists, he returned to work on his Time Turner, ignoring Blaise's speculative look.

Maybe he should tell him. It was hard trying to keep everything under control and not even Hermione could help him these days, since she didn't know anything about the experiments that were going on here. All he knew was that time was the only solution to help him.

"Spit it out," Blaise suddenly said, fully turning towards him. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one whose patience was wearing thin. Rolling his neck, Harry stared ahead, knowing that they couldn't play the secrecy game any longer. Not if he wanted to fix himself. Still, something held Harry back.

"You're here for a reason," the pure-blood murmured. His fingers tapped against the surface of the desk, a nervous tick Harry had noted after spending some time with the former Slytherin.

"Obviously," Harry drawled, channeling his inner Snape. Blaise's frustration was amusing. Nevertheless, Harry looked around, noting that several Unspeakables had their bodies turned in their direction, trying to overhear them. Nosy bastards.

Making a decision, Harry suddenly turned around, gripping Blaise's arm to steer him away from the chamber, heading for one of the small rooms adjoined to it. He could feel the crowd gazing at them, although most people inside the chamber had their hoods drawn up. Quickening his steps, he dragged the other away from the crowd, trying to ignore the glittering lights around him floating away. Maybe the universes could sense his need for privacy. That would be nice for a change.

Throwing open the door, he walked inside, ignoring Blaise's raised eyebrows.

"If you wanted some alone time with me, you could have just asked?" Insufferable smirk in place, Harry watched as Blaise closed the door, throwing up some privacy wards in the process with a flick of his wand. The other had grown surprisingly powerful, Harry had noticed. At school, Zabini had always remained in Malfoy's shadow, rarely letting his skills shine through in public. But apparently he had earned his spot here for valid reasons.

Around them, torches lightened up the room, throwing everything into blue hues, making Harry shiver internally. Thankfully, he had no universes inside here, watching him like hundred pairs of eyes. The department was creepy enough.

Leaning against one of the old tables, Harry sighed.

He would need to do this, if only to get some form of help from someone who knew what he was doing. So it was with a heavy heart that he reached for something inside his pocket, fingers curling around the object.

Stepping closer, Blaise sensed Harry's mood, frowning at him.

Placing the Elder Wand on the table, Harry watched, expression grim as Blaise's eyes widened, recognizing it for what it was.

"Is that the Dark Lord's wand?" the older boy breathed.

"It never was."

Crossing his arms, he waited for Blaise to connect the dots. Thankfully, the other Unspeakable didn't disappoint. Blaise didn't touch the wand, but Harry could see the glint in his eyes, the one that many wizards and witches carried when faced with something of immeasurable value and power.

"It was Draco's, wasn't it? I recall you saying something to the Dark Lord, taunting him about it." Blaise leaned forward, inspecting it. Suddenly he gasped.

"It's cracked."

Harry nodded, wondering how Blaise had noticed it so soon, much earlier than Harry himself had done. Not even Hermione had noticed the tiny crack indicating that the wand was damaged.

"The Elder Wand was probably damaged, because the ´Dark Lord´ had abused its power at some point," Harry said, face blank. There was no other explanation, nothing that could take away from the fact that Harry had become the Master of Death by acquiring objects that had been _damaged_. The Elder Wand by someone who never mastered it and the Resurrection Stone that had been damaged by the Sword of Gryffindor.

Blaise looked confused and was about to say something, but Harry held up his hand, interrupting the other.

"You know why I'm here. Or you can guess," Harry began and Blaise's expression darkened.

"You want to travel back in time."

It wasn't a question and Harry nodded, holding his gaze. Predictably, Blaise shook his head, shoulders drawn up as if to defend himself.

"You know then that time can't be changed like that. The wand was meant to be damaged, so you just have to deal with it, Potter. Not everything is picture perfect."

"I'm cursed," Harry confessed.

And that was all it took to shut the boy's protests down, although Harry didn't think Blaise Zabini of all people would be overly concerned with Harry's fate. Still, he watched as Blaise drew himself up, putting more distance between them. The boy believed him.

The silence between them was uncomfortable, reminding Harry of one of their earlier confrontations, back when he started to work for the department. And perhaps that's what prompted Harry to confront Blaise. Along the way, he had developed a certain closeness to the other Unspeakable, a closeness that wasn't reciprocated but still made Harry feel as if he'd found another friend, someone he could trust.

He hoped it wouldn't be misplaced.

"You might not care, but I do. I'm cursed and I know the only way to stop it is to travel back in time and acquire a wand that wasn't damaged by Voldemort. Maybe then I can figure out what's wrong with me."

Blaise flinched, but his expression remained sceptical. "How do you know the wand is responsible for this...curse? Or that the Dark Lord was responsible for damaging it?"

Harry snorted, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I just _do_, alright?"

It was an instinct. He felt it in his bones. He felt it in the way he breathed, the way his magic acted up whenever he thought of using the Elder Wand. He felt it at all times, the cloying taint of death clinging to him, similar to his time in limbo. The Deathly Hallows followed its master everywhere. Besides, Dumbledore's portrait had confirmed it with him just yesterday. The wand needed to be repaired. And no wandmaker in the world would be able to do it. Ollivander had told him that, too.

Mirroring his stance, Blaise turned away. "Not good enough. You haven't even told me what kind of symptoms you're experiencing." His expression softened somewhat, startling Harry who had expected Blaise not to take him seriously. "Maybe you're _meant_ to be cursed. Healing yourself by traveling back in time won't work either. It's -"

"Fate?" Harry couldn't help it. He chuckled, ignoring the sneer that was directed at him. Stepping away from the table, he pocketed the Elder Wand, pointedly ignoring Blaise's heavy stare. "You should know by now how much I hate divination," Harry replied.

"It's impossible." Blaise continued to look disinterested, although there was a slight tension around his mouth that betrayed his thoughts. Harry knew what this was about. There was a reason why Blaise had joined the department, a reason similar to his own. Scientific interest took a backseat, when you had a family, a mother you loved.

"Time Turners won't allow you to travel back in time for more than five hours. You know that."

Harry smiled. "And that's why I find this concept of different dimensions much more interesting," he replied. Blaise tensed, but Harry wasn't done yet. He knew they could do it, having seen how obsessively Blaise had researched dimension travel, ignoring all laws and even going so far as to gain access to restricted files regarding the topic.

Stepping closer, Harry tilted his head. "Why is the department so interested in the Founders?" he asked, straight and to the point. No one had ever even hinted at it, but Harry knew their supervisor was just as interested in dimension travel as Blaise. And the Founders' relics had something to do with it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Blaise groused, just as stubborn.

Harry snorted. "And I don't mind telling Kingsley that the entire department is withholding information and conducting illegal research. Besides, the minister is already suspicious enough."

"You wouldn't," Blaise shot back. "If what you're saying is true and you're cursed to the point where no healer can do something, then we are the only ones left. You would blow your only chance at recovery."

Green eyes turned sharp.

"I have nothing to lose."

Another moment of silence grew between them, but Harry continued to stare at the other boy, wanting to convey the seriousness of this situation. He couldn't tell him everything, not yet. But the department was indeed his only chance at figuring out what was wrong with the Deathly Hallows to make his magic so unstable. And truthfully, that wasn't the only issue.

"It's not just the Founders you're interested in," he began slowly. Blaise sneered, throwing his hands up.

"You're insufferable, Potter. Always sticking your nose into business that doesn't concern you."

Harry smirked.

"Business that doesn't concern me? Strange. I thought reading the Tales of Beedle the Bard in your free time is exactly the kind of stuff that would concern me."

Seeing Blaise's cold expression, Harry shrugged, unimpressed. "I know the department is interested in the stuff I revealed after the Final Battle. About me dying twice and how I managed to thwart Voldemort's plans. I caught our supervisor reading my old interviews during his lunch time. It's no big secret."

"Then you know why you're here in the first place, Potter? Why they _allowed_ you to be here." Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing again. "It's certainly not your riveting mind that makes this department go crazy. You're a lab rat."

"And soon one of them will approach me about my near-death experience," Harry replied, bored. "I know that. What I don't know is what the Sword of Gryffindor and the other relics have to do with dimension travel or why you care about Beedle the Bard."

Blaise to his credit didn't appear guilty, as if caught in some nefarious act. Instead, he turned serious, evaluating Harry silently, perhaps looking for something that would convince him to share the department's dirty laundry with the former Auror in training.

He took a step closer to Harry and said quietly, "Can I trust you?"

Well, that was a difficult question. And Harry honestly didn't know what to say, given the state of his magic and his emotions these days.

* * *

1946

Borgin and Burkes was deserted and Tom Riddle had nothing to do. The weather kept most customers away from Knockturn Alley, which in turn gave Borgin an excuse to leave early. Rain poured down over London relentlessly, thunder rolling across the sky.

Despite the boredom, Tom enjoyed the blissful silence, the lack of interaction with people. He didn't need to charm anyone, forced to touch women and men, shaking their hands as if they were equals. That was probably the worst part of this job, he thought. Wearing masks all the time tended to exhaust him, especially if he couldn't experience some sort of reprieve from the shackles and limitations of society.

Albania had been a welcoming change, of course. He hadn't expected to lose the diadem, but with the spell still in place, Tom was confident that he would retrieve it at some point. It would be a challenge, but not impossible to solve.

Harry Evans however was a problem.

Tom's eyes narrowed, staring at the pages of his book without seeing anything. Evans _was_ a big problem. A permanent annoyance in his mind that distracted Tom so thoroughly to the point where it became embarrassing. Thankfully, he had no witnesses to his occasional bouts of inattentiveness, but they shouldn't happen in the first place.

At first, he thought that playing with these two unknown wizards would be another welcoming challenge. But the more he thought about it, the more difficult it became to accept that this _wasn't a game_. Perhaps it was the distance between them, the lack of communication and the months of nothing that dragged on and on. His followers had returned empty-handed, of course. Despite knowing the exact location of Evans' hideout, none of them had been able to breach the wards around the place.

Still, Tom knew it was too early to strike. Savoring the anticipation however made the incoming confrontation all the more exciting for him. In his mind, the image of Harry Evans transformed into a credible threat that he couldn't 'play' with. Instead, the young man had turned into someone that required skill on Tom's part. And perhaps that's what made it different. Different from so many others who at some point had uttered a challenge.

Harry Evans was quickly turning into a fierce opponent, though maybe it was a testament to Tom's overactive imagination that he could make a threat appear bigger than it actually was. He'd met him just once, after all. In any case, he wouldn't underestimate the man or his companion. The memory of Evans' magic didn't allow it. Back then, his wild gaze had echoed promises of pain. Evans hated him. The wizard knew him, intimately and despised his existence, for whatever reason.

Pale fingers tightened their hold on the book and Tom leaned forward, contemplating how to best approach this issue. First, he would have to deal with Hepzibah Smith, of course. But that shouldn't take too long. After getting rid of her, he would deal with Evans.

Looking up, Tom checked the clock, seeing that he had 15 minutes left, before the shop closed down. Annoyance surged through him, thinking of his employer and knowing that he couldn't kill him. It would be too suspicious, but Tom really didn't think he would continue working for the man much longer. It all depended on Smith and how cooperative she'd prove to be, obviously. But he couldn't wait to leave this place. Just a few months left.

The door chimed as it opened, startling him and Tom looked up, carefully masking his anger. He hadn't expected any customers at this hour. But of course, some fool needed to ruin his day.

Dark eyes surveyed the tall form stepping inside the shop. The customer didn't even bother to cast a charm to disperse any raindrops clinging to him, his black cloak drenched and leaving wet trails on the floor. A rude one.

"May I help you?" Tom asked politely, closing his book in the process. Although he didn't think the customer had any money on him, Tom had enough experience with dubious characters to know that appearances didn't matter all that much, especially not for those who dealt with and purchased illegal items.

The figure turned around, the hem of his cloak billowing slightly with the movement and Tom finally got a good look on the man.

He froze.

Before him stood none other than Harry Evans, cool gaze fixed on him, expression blank. He should have noticed it sooner, Tom thought, pushing past his own sudden, inexplicable excitement. He should have noticed the swirling, out of control magic surrounding the boy as soon as he stepped inside. There was something seriously wrong with Evans.

Tom stood, clasping his hands behind his back. Apparently, Evans had deemed it necessary to confront him again after months of silence. Unexpected as it was, Tom could admit that it wasn't unpleasant, although his visit had once again revealed that the boy knew much more about him than he let on. How interesting.

* * *

Harry didn't like Riddle's eyes. He really didn't.

They regarded him with cool detachment, but Harry could tell it was all an act designed for him. A masterful play of someone who rarely let his true feelings shine through. Riddle approached him calmly, his steps unhurried and elegant, every movement of his a calculating display of contained dominance. Never one to back down, Harry took off his gloves, pocketing them, before fully turning towards the young Dark Lord.

"I would like to speak with the owner," Harry said, looking around. He could feel those eyes on him, cataloguing his expression, but Harry wouldn't let that deter him.

"Borgin isn't here. And we're closing soon," Riddle pointed out. Glancing sideways, Harry caught Riddle's frown as he continued to watch him. Damn.

Running a hand through his wet hair, Harry wondered if Riddle would be amiable enough to help him out. It was a rather urgent issue, but Harry didn't think Riddle would find it too suspicious if Harry simply asked for a book.

Unbidden, Blaise's words came to mind, telling him that everything would be easier if he just killed the Dark Lord. The universe wouldn't collapse or anything. But there was also that not insubstantial fact that Harry considered whenever he came in close contact with Voldemort's magic. The first time Harry had ignored it, although he had felt the difference right from the start. For whatever reason, Harry's magic seemed to get _easier to control_ in Riddle's presence.

Perhaps Hermione had been right all along. Perhaps it was the absence of Riddle's soul inside Harry that caused him to feel so unstable. For instance, repairing his Elder Wand with Grindelwald's copy hadn't worked. Gaining mastery didn't change anything. But Harry couldn't let go of that theory, couldn't let go of Dumbledore's words of warning, Ollivander's worries. They would know.

Sighing, Harry caught the flicker of something in Riddle's eyes, not quite knowing how to interpret the man's expression.

"Well, I just wanted to ask for a book," Harry began slowly, scowling when he noticed Riddle's surprise. What did the Dark Lord think? That Harry would attack him straight away? He wasn't that unstable, thank you very much.

"August Abney's treatise on wandlore, 2nd edition," he explained, when Riddle remained silent.

If anything, that seemed to heighten Riddle's surprise, but his expression was still too calm, too indifferent for someone who had threatened to harm Blaise the last time they had met.

Automatically, Harry felt his hand running through his hair again, feeling wet locks plastered against his forehead. Riddle's lips thinned, following the movement, sharp eyes tracing Harry's scar.

Harry stiffened, waiting patiently for Tom to say something, anything really. Putting his hands inside his pockets, he stared at him.

Riddle's lips parted. "We don't specialize in wandlore. You should try Ollivander."

"And you must know that the book is illegal. People like Ollivander don't specialize in the Dark Arts and that's why I'm here," Harry shot back, impatient.

The bastard had the nerve to smile and Harry noticed for some strange reason that Riddle had rather long eyelashes.

Harry's hands clenched inside his pockets.

"I can't help you there, Evans."

Of course. Harry rolled his eyes. He should have known that visiting the shop would be a waste of his time, causing more trouble than it's worth. There was a long pause, a strange tension that lingered in the air, but Harry could see that Riddle wasn't done, apparently.

"Not without getting something in return."

Right, Slytherins. Harry didn't like Riddle's eyes, and now he could add Riddle's indulgent smile to his mental catalogue of things he disliked about Tom Riddle.

"What do you want?" he asked, knowing that it was most likely something unpleasant, something impossible to fulfill.

"Would you like to get a drink with me?"

Another pause.

He must have misheard.

Stifling a gasp, Harry's eyes widened. He could feel his pulse quickening, aware that it had nothing to do with his magic.

But the words were out. They were out and Riddle waited patiently, the innocent question somehow having turned into an order that would be obeyed. Was that Voldemort's way of asking people out?


	6. Don't worry about the past

A/N: Enjoy this one

* * *

**Chapter 6: Don't worry about the past**

Casting a charm to keep the rain out of his face, Harry walked alongside Riddle, ignoring the few brave souls resisting the weather, mostly hags that were begging him for money. Knockturn Alley was as run down and dilapidated as always, even in this new timeline.

It was a sad state of affairs. Poverty and war affected the wizarding world to a degree Harry had never seen before and it was a shocking experience to witness something only history books had recorded. His war against Voldemort hadn't affected businesses nearly as much as Grindelwald and the Muggle war. People had been afraid, yes. But they had lived. They had homes to return to. Here, people had lost everything.

Looking up, he caught a glimpse of the starless sky, as clouds chased all light away. Rain couldn't even wash away the stench of this particular alley and London in the 40's was a miserable place, Harry thought. The sooner he figured out how to get back home, the better.

It was getting late and Riddle would probably lead him right into a trap, but holding the fledgling Dark Lord to his word was a risk worth taking. He'd gotten what he wanted, although Harry was certain it wasn't much of a concession on Riddle's part. The book had been worth the trouble, though. It didn't exist in his time period anymore.

But now he had to keep his word, which is why he was here.

Frowning, Harry thought about the current situation, ignoring the occasional looks Tom shot his way as they headed for a small pub near Borgin and Burkes.

This reality, or alternate universe, as Blaise called it, was different in many ways, but still recognizable to them. Harry often needed to remind himself of the differences, just to wrap his mind around the concept of different dimensions. And if Riddle knew more about it, it would spell trouble for them.

For example, he couldn't presume that _this Tom Riddle_ would turn out to be a Dark Lord, though it looked like he was on his way. Many events were different from Harry's own timeline. But what struck him as odd was the fact that this universe somehow seemed to_ align with his own_, the more he meddled with it.

Harry's unpublicized defeat of Grindelwald proved it. Somehow Dumbledore had taken credit for it, being hailed as the hero of the wizarding world without even lifting a finger. Harry knew Dumbledore wasn't the type of person to do that unless it somehow benefited whatever outcome the old wizard had for this future. Still. Dumbledore was now as popular as he'd been back in 1945 in Harry's timeline. No changes there.

It would fit with existing theories regarding timelines. Stuff that dealt with linear timelines and the necessity to keep them stable. However, Blaise and Harry had done the unthinkable, though it had been an accident. Universes didn't need to align with each other. In fact, the entire point of the department's research had been to prove that they were different.

Well, Harry was getting used this novel experience, but nevertheless it remained to be seen whether they could even return back home. It would just be his luck to get permanently stuck in this place.

But no one had attempted dimension travel to this degree. And no one knew how their presence would affect this world. They were going into this blind.

"Lost in thought?"

Riddle's voice startled Harry. He'd almost forgotten his presence.

Glancing sideways, he ignored the flicker of curiosity in Riddle's dark eyes, opting to answer truthfully.

"You could say that," Harry said, shrugging.

They had reached the entrance to _Knockturn's Bard_, an old tavern that was a favorite meeting place for goblins, for whatever reason. Sighing, Harry moved past Riddle as the man held the door open for him. He wasn't in the mood for a candlelight dinner and he really wasn't in the mood for Riddle's antics, charming as they might be. They could fool everyone else, but not him. Harry wasn't even surprised that Tom Riddle would invite him to such a place. It was obvious why he did it.

The man wanted to show off, to show Harry how much influence he already had over these people here.

But that's what it was. Harry took in the interior of the establishment Riddle had invited him to, taking it all in with slight dismay.

All around him, people were mingling, dressed in their best. A few heads turned to inspect Riddle only to quickly look away. And the bunch of vampires occupying the bar were barely glancing their way, before turning around to do their business. It wasn't a pleasant sight with all the blood that was being shared.

Riddle chose a table near the backdoor, moving with long-practiced and decisive steps, expecting Harry to follow like a good minion.

Rolling his eyes, Harry crossed the room, ignoring a few curious onlookers.

He probably did look strange to them, dressed in his standard, black combat robe that made him stand out more in the 40's. In fact, Harry suspected Riddle had come to all the right conclusions just by looking at the way Harry dressed.

"Please, sit." Riddle indicated a seat that would leave Harry unprotected, since his back was to the entrance. Great.

Sighing again, Harry plopped down inelegantly. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted a group of men eyeing them suspiciously. If anyone tried to attack him here, Harry needed to be ready, just in case.

"So I got what I wanted and now we're doing what exactly?" he asked, turning back to look at Riddle. The man was folding his napkin in half and placing it on his lap. Dark curls fell in his eyes and Riddle brushed them back, before looking up.

"I would like to get to know you better, Evans."

At Harry's raised eyebrows, the man smiled. "It's not often I meet someone who seems to know more about me than I do."

Blinking, Harry remained silent. He'd never been the recipient of Riddle's charm in such a direct way and it was a bit confusing. The Horcrux in his timeline hadn't felt the need to act like that, certainly not for Harry's 12 year old self.

A waitress approached them, and Harry decided to order a Butterbeer, deciding to just be himself. Riddle would probably read more into his actions at this point than necessary.

"I already told you, you wouldn't get anything out of me," Harry responded smoothly.

"Not in the traditional way, no."

Harry steepled his fingers. Funny, how Riddle perceived threats and violence as traditional.

Leaning back, the young Dark Lord watched him from beneath lowered eyelids. "I decided to simply use the opportunity you gave me to ask more questions," the man continued. Harry didn't even feel the need to hide his disbelief and Riddle's lips twitched, watching Harry's expression closely. "Yes, that means I'm not going to force you to do something you don't want to do. It would be a waste of time."

"Because I'm such a stubborn bastard?" Chuckling, Harry raised a wandless Muffliato, after the waitress returned with their drinks. They were already providing too much gossip for Knockturn Alley's crowd and he'd rather not have people talking about his association with Riddle. Harry was still a wanted man, given the fact he'd singlehandedly defeated Grindelwald.

"I wouldn't put it like that, but essentially, yes." Riddle held up his glass, and Harry mirrored him, knowing he'd caught young Voldemort's attention with his display of wandless magic.

"So asking me nicely is the way to go," he said, turning fully to face Riddle, after taking a sip. "That's just manipulation. And I'm not going to fall for that either. Not like your followers."

Riddle looked at him pointedly.

"See? You already told me so much about you." Harry stiffened, reaching out for the menu just to distract himself. Riddle's words washed over him like a tidal wave and it took a huge amount of patience not to snap at him. Strangely enough, his magic remained calm, Riddle's presence not affecting it at all.

Long fingers tapped against the tablecloth, tracing invisible patterns. "You believe that me doing something as simple as politely asking you is a form of manipulation. You attribute certain characteristics to me without having ever talked to me before." At Harry's hard stare, Riddle's hands stilled. "Not like this, at least." The man's smile was infuriating.

"You also call my associates followers and you know the preferred name I like to go by. I, on the other hand, can only guess. It creates a bit of a power imbalance, don't you think?"

"You feel threatened," Harry said.

The waitress approached them again, ignoring Harry's Muffliato charm to take their orders. It was a welcome interruption. It allowed Harry to mull over Riddle's words. The other wizard waited patiently until she left, before leaning forward slightly.

"No, I feel curious," Riddle replied, calm. "Feeling threatened would imply I already perceive you as my equal or something close to it, which, given the lack of information on you, is hard to do."

That arrogant bastard. Reaching for his drink, Harry wanted to laugh. Blaise wouldn't find this funny at all. If anything, he would probably try to counteract Riddle's attitude with his own special brand of Slytherin superiority. But Harry could play this game, could outwit Riddle, because he knew he possessed enough power to back up his words.

He would do it with simple Gryffindor honesty.

"You wouldn't recognize me as your equal if I was Merlin resurrected, Riddle." Harry chuckled, playing with his napkin. " Sure, I'm proving your point now. I know a lot about you, and no I don't really feel the need to disclose my sources, but here's the thing. If you're so curious, as you claim to be, then why did your followers stalk my hideout for days on end? Why threaten my friend?" At Riddle's silence, Harry looked up. "Because of a bloody diadem?"

Without giving the man a chance to reply, Harry continued, ignoring the way Riddle's eyes brightened.

"You're threatened, because there was someone out there to thwart your plans. For once, your plans didn't go your way and now you're just obsessed with me. You want to correct your mistake." Holding up his hand, Harry held the man's gaze.

"No sweet words or invitations to dinner will change my opinion of you, because I know you and what I'm dealing with."

"Presumptuous," Riddle said, but he didn't look offended. Harry's words seemed to amuse him. But Harry didn't let that deter him, though. He would try to get the Dark Lord out of his hair and he would do it now.

"I like to make this go as smoothly as possible and I will tell you this. The diadem and those other fancy items you look for, forget about it," he said. His shoes accidentally brushed against Riddle's calf, as he tried to stretch out his legs, and for a moment Harry was too startled to continue. Riddle's face remained blank.

Inhaling sharply, Harry gathered his thoughts. "It's not that I somehow want to spoil your plans or whatever. Technically, I'm not even your enemy," he said, meaning every word. He hadn't traveled to another dimension just to confront a Dark Lord or to alter the past in some way. "What I want to do has absolutely nothing to do with you, Riddle, and I preferred if we never crossed paths again."

"Then let me help you."

That made Harry still.

"What?"

But Riddle looked serious, having dropped his mask of indifference. There was something in his eyes now, a kind of confidence only Voldemort had possessed during the ministry takeover. Harry frowned at him, not seeing what had prompted this change.

"If you need the founders' relics for something, let me help you achieve your goal and in return I will obtain them after you've succeeded. This way, we can avoid any conflict of interest," Riddle explained, picking up his glass again.

Harry stared at him, eyes hard. "What makes you think I won't destroy them? You don't know what I need to do."

Riddle swirled the contents of his drink, seemingly distracted. "Precisely. But as you probably know, I'm able to put certain things into perspective, Evans."

_Oh, like what?_

"Let's talk about your lack of control over your magic." Riddle looked up sharply, catching Harry off guard. "You have a problem or even several problems and what you seek is a solution, which makes the diadem, the sword, the cup and the locket invaluable."

Riddle took Harry's silence as confirmation. Of course, he was right, but Harry gazed at him, wondering where this was going.

"Don't look at me like that. I know the legends surrounding the founders and what kind of powers their relics could have potentially possessed. Destroying them is the last thing you would do." The man smirked. "You probably think my interference would have done that, which is why both of you were so persistent during the auction."

Harry didn't bat an eyelash. He wouldn't let Riddle know that Harry was aware of the man's plans for more Horcruxes. It would cause too many problems. Let the man believe Harry was ignorant.

Unaware of Harry's thoughts, Riddle continued, looking slightly to Harry's left, as if something more interesting had suddenly caught his attention. "Furthermore, you don't know exactly how the founders might help you with your magic, but you do have a vague idea. Your friend, too, is determined to succeed. But I believe he also works with you for personal reasons that have nothing to do with your...illness."

"He does," Harry confirmed. "It doesn't change a thing. But I don't think you know all that much about it or what a partnership entails." Harry didn't want to talk about Blaise, since it would give Riddle and his cronies too much ammunition.

Riddle inclined his head. "That's why my followers are my followers, and not my friends. What I'm proposing you, however, is something different. A mutually beneficial partnership, if only to learn from the best." Looking Harry up and down, Riddle's gaze was mocking.

Harry turned his head.

He wouldn't admit it under the threat of pain, but there was something exhilarating about conversing with Tom Riddle, challenging him, or even being challenged by him. His taunts, his sharp intellect and even sharper wit forced Harry to keep up, always keeping in mind that his words could be used against him. He still loathed the man, would like to wipe that arrogance off once and for all. But there was something, something that he'd missed since the end of the war.

It was a game between them. And he kind of liked it.

Placing his hand underneath his chin, Harry smiled. "You helping me? Kind of one-sided. What do you get out of it?"

Catching Riddle's pleased look, Harry picked up his knife, subtly glancing down at the reflection.

"A lot," Riddle said, his dark eyes fixed on the waitress who returned with their meals. A salad for Riddle, Harry thought, amused. He'd never associated Voldemort with health.

"My original plans haven't changed. And I do get the satisfaction of learning more about you and your friend."

'Good luck with that', Harry thought. He didn't really know what to think of Riddle's offer, though. Of course, the man was a fountain of obscure knowledge and Hermione had held onto her theory that the forceful removal of the Horcrux inside Harry was the main reason why his magic was so unstable. Keeping the man close, would give him some answers, at least. But at the same time, working with him could be disastrous. Riddle was too observant, could mess up too many things. And it's not like Harry could just ask for a piece of Riddle's soul to test if it helped him.

He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Stepping outside, Harry looked up, noticing that the rain had finally ceased, leaving only a darkened sky behind. Most people were going home now, either having concluded their questionable business deals or seeking another opportunity elsewhere beneath the safety of the night's darkness. From here, it was a short walk to the next Apparition point and Harry was tempted to just meet up with Blaise to explain what happened.

Riddle stepped beside him, ignoring the onlookers.

"You're welcome to join me at my manor."

The offer wasn't unexpected. Harry stared ahead, knowing that Riddle seeked Harry's presence for as long as possible, since he'd basically admitted that he couldn't get through Harry's wards.

"So you can get me drunk? And then what?" Harry shot back, enjoying that he had the power to decide whether they would see each other again or not.

"I'll leave that to your imagination." Fingers brushed against his elbow, before Riddle turned his back, putting more distance between them.

Did Riddle just say what Harry thought he said?

It was one thing to challenge the man. It was another to...talk to him like that. Biting his lips, Harry ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"If you want to reach me, send an owl. I'm not lowering my wards. Blaise would kill me for this," he said, eyeing the man's turned back. They needed to go in the same direction, since neither Harry nor Riddle were inclined to Apparate within Knockturn Alley's perimeter, potentially leaving incriminating magical traces. Harry joined him quickly. They walked side by side, returning back to Diagon Alley.

"Ah, yes. Your friend. I'm sure he would," Riddle replied, his steps unhurried. "He wouldn't want me to corrupt you."

Too late, for that. Wry amusement gripped Harry, thinking of all the ways Voldemort had tried to 'corrupt' him in the past. Offers to join the man, eager words whispered in his dreams, urging him to cast the Cruciatus, each and every attempt more forceful than the last. Voldemort had been a master manipulator and his desire to kill Harry had barely eclipsed his desire to drag Harry down to his level. Tom wouldn't be any different.

They were alone now, the street stretching out before them, swallowed up by darkness.

Harry halted his movements, turning his head, before deciding to change directions. Entering another alleyway, he wasn't surprised to notice Riddle catching on quickly.

"We're being followed," Harry whispered, perhaps needlessly. Drawing his wand, he stood poised near the corner, where the shadows would cloak his movements.

"I was wondering if you would notice that." Riddle hadn't done anything, merely leaning back against the wall, as he inspected Harry closely. "Friend of yours?"

"Funny, I was about to ask you that." Harry quipped, drawing back his arm. His reflexes didn't fail him and without much trouble, his elbow made contact with his target, a startled cry erupting from the unknown man, before he crumpled to the ground. Harry didn't give him much time to recover, though. Fingers curled around the stiff material of the man's robe and Harry hauled him forward, throwing the man against the wall, before invisible shackles pinned him against it.

"Lumos." Harry's wand lit up and he drew back the hood, quickly trying to identify their spy. He'd already noticed him in the tavern and Riddle must have as well. Unfortunately, the man's features, gaunt face and beady eyes didn't tell Harry much.

The man struggled, pushing against the magic. His wand was nowhere in sight. "Let me go," he snarled, wide eyes fixed on Harry's form. He didn't even seem to be aware of Riddle's presence or he chose to ignore it, which could mean anything.

"Who are you and why are you following us?" Harry asked, purposefully keeping his voice low, his wand pointed at the stranger.

"I don't-" The man choked, as the magic tightened its hold, Harry's temper flaring without warning. Riddle frowned.

"I won't ask again."

The man grinned, his sharp eyes on Harry while he continued to struggle. "You're the one who defeated our Lord. I would recognize those eyes everywhere."

Alarm shot through Harry, and he couldn't prevent Riddle from hearing the man's words. The man's German accent made sense, and with dread Harry realized that Riddle would find out something crucial about him, only fueling what interest he had in Harry's business. Fucking hell.

"You must be mistak-"

"Go on," Tom interrupted him, stepping closer. You could practically hear the anticipation in his words. Harry kept his wand arm steady, his thoughts running wild.

The stranger barely spared Riddle a glance, but he was quite determined to make Harry's life difficult. "My Lord Grindelwald wasn't defeated by Albus Dumbledore. I would know. I was there."

Silence met his words and Harry didn't know what to say. He'd hidden his features during the battle, but at some point his charm must have failed him, if one of Grindelwald's men recognized him now. How many had seen Harry? And how many would spread the word about Harry's involvement?

"Why are you hiding from the public?" the follower suddenly asked. "Why are you letting Dumbledore take all the glory?"

'Because I'm not here to get famous, you twit,' Harry thought, furious at himself for making this mistake. No one should have seen his real face during the battle. His entire search for a cure relied on his ability to move in the shadows without having wizards and witches going after his head at every turn.

"Not everyone was incarcerated after the battle, boy," the stranger continued, enjoying Harry's reluctance to talk, enjoying his obvious troubles. "You know this. That's why I followed you as soon as I recognized you. The others will find out soon."

Riddle interfered, before Harry could even utter a sound. His spell knocked the man out cold, and the following silence disconcerted Harry even more.

"Tracking spell," Riddle said, referring to the man's words. Harry nodded, numb. The man would have been able to inform his friends of Harry's presence, since the dark tracking spell allowed them to communicate with each other from a distance. It was a fucked up situation and not for the first time Harry wished he'd taken Hermione with him on this trip. To hell with the cure, to hell with parallel universes. He should have just searched for a way back home. That's it.

Riddle turned slowly, pocketing the familiar Yew wand, as he inspected Harry, his eyes boring into him. There was that crimson bleeding through, spelling danger, and Harry had no choice but to hold still, waiting for the attack that was sure to come.

"How is it that a young man like you, coming out of nowhere," Riddle walked forward, closing the remaining the distance between them rapidly and stopping inches from Harry. "Can defeat one of the most powerful Dark Lords of our time?" Hands reached out, cupping Harry's face as Riddle began to trace his features with his eyes, committing everything to memory.

Scraping out the last bit of defiance, Harry slapped Riddle's hands away, the invasive touch lingering on his skin. His rebellion just seemed to amuse the Dark Lord even more.

"Want to find out?" Harry asked, eyes narrowed.

Riddle's laugh tore through the silence, cold and cruel and reminding Harry of everything he'd wanted to bury in the past.

* * *

_The present_

The ministry's archives contained scrolls of long forgotten times, shelves and rows filled with dusty pages and parchment that could disintegrate if you didn't cast the necessary spells to protect them. Harry walked ahead, the heavy Unspeakable robe a hindrance, since it just blew up more dust as Harry followed Blaise. Small light bulbs illuminated the place and a clock ticked away the time they had left to do their research.

"I read up on the Deathly Hallows, Potter. As have several people within the department. And most of us think it's not really Death that created the objects, but the Peverells," Blaise said, looking for a specific section. "There are certain things I don't know, things that only you might explain, which is why you're here. Like what happens if the Elder Wand switches its loyalty and under what circumstances does it happen, those kind of things."

The implicit' 'you're hiding something' was loud and clear to Harry.

"You don't think my problems have anything to do with the Hallows?" Harry asked, curious. Hermione had argued against it as well. And Dumbledore's portrait had agreed with Harry. Now he had no idea what to believe.

Blaise shrugged, indicating at a shelf containing books under the letter A. "I actually do. It's worth searching for answers in the past, but the risk of destroying the timeline or even killing yourself in the process is too high."

Harry crossed his arms, ignoring the warning. "Let's say I took the Elder Wand with me and the wand suddenly met its counterpart, would that affect the timeline?"

"It would only change the timeline of the universe you're travelling to. Not our own. For that you would have to use a time turner. I'm pretty sure nothing will happen." Blaise sounded confident, but Harry knew they had no concrete proof, no assurance that this wouldn't backfire.

Blaise drew himself up, reaching for one of the scrolls, his gloved hands coming in contact with the fragile parchment. Stepping closer, Harry looked over his shoulder, seeing only a short passage that must have been copied off of some ancient text.

"Abney's treatise?" Harry read out, raising his eyebrows.

"He studied the Elder Wand, although I don't think he ever gained possession of it. Not in the traditional sense," Blaise murmured, eyes fixed on the tiny letters. "The book was lost sometime during the First War, but from what the department knows, the Dark Lord was interested in the wand without even knowing anything about the Hallows. I believe he only thought it was a theoretical concept at that time. And that the wand didn't even exist anymore."

"Voldemort hoarded a book about one of the Hallows?" Harry grew alarmed. Dumbledore hadn't told him anything about _that_.

Blaise winced at the name, but he nodded, looking thoughtful. "You know it would make sense for you to travel to another universe just to meet the Dark Lord again without risking a fatal change to our timeline. You could study your magic just by being close to him. It doesn't need to be the wand per se that messes with your system. It could be a combination of two factors."

"Yeah, I get that," Harry replied. "What I don't get is why the department is so obsessed with the Founders and their relics."

Blaise hesitated, obviously not wanting to tell Harry more. But since this unholy partnership started, Harry had already told him too much about the Hallows and the Horcruxes and now it was time to reciprocate. Lowering his head, Blaise stared at the floor, collecting his thoughts.

"The founders are famous for their research into various universes, although that knowledge is only common to people who work in the Time chamber. And the Headmaster, I suppose." Pausing, Blaise looked at Harry. "All four of them speculated that the only factor holding all universes together is Death, the only thing separating each outcome and fate is the moment existence collapses and is reborn in another universe."

Harry stared, suddenly understanding Dumbledore's words of death being the next adventure, if this was the case.

"But how?"

Blaise shook his head. "How they figured out how to travel through universes? That's the point, Potter. We don't know. All we know is that the relics have something to do with it, since we managed to collect valuable texts written by Helga and Rowena themselves. And that's why my superior wants to study the sword. And why he's so interested in you, since you are the only known survivor of the killing curse and the only one who managed to travel to a place in between the universes and managed to return."

Placing the scroll back on the shelf, Blaise turned away. "If there's one person who can manage to travel through time _and_ space, I suppose it would be you."

* * *

Three weeks later, an explosion inside the Time chamber occurred. Both Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini had disappeared, leaving nothing behind.

No one knew if they would ever return.


	7. Rushing In

**Chapter 7: Rushing In**

_1999_

Blaise stared at the expanse of energy coursing through the globe as he inspected its reaction to the Sword of Gryffindor which Potter held loosely in his hands, a sword he had stolen from McGonagall's office last night. What they were doing right now was beyond illegal. But since both his mother's life and Potter's were at stake here, none of them cared.

The magical energy trembled in his hands, the research paying off as they finally managed to figure out that the Founders of Hogwarts had indeed found ways to investigate parallel universes and make those universes visible to the naked eye. More visible than what the Department of Mysteries had achieved.

"I don't think we can travel through it yet," he said, tentatively shifting his grip on the small globe. Potter frowned, testing how the distance between the globe and the sword affected the magic that continued to swirl inside the small sphere.

"But there must be some way for it to work," Potter replied. "I mean, according to the scrolls you gave me, Helga Hufflepuff managed to safely trespass the passages between life and death and return unharmed."

'Unharmed didn't mean _unchanged'_, Blaise thought morosely. There could have been negative consequences to their experiments. And he didn't quite want to find out what those consequences were. Unlike the Boy-Who-Lived, he valued his own life. Thank you very much.

They were currently standing inside an antechamber to the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries and nobody was there to witness what they were currently attempting to do; finding a way to travel to a universe safely; a universe that would not negatively affect their own timeline in case they made drastic changes.

Those changes were necessary though. Blaise would save his mother, would find that cure that no longer existed in his world. And Potter would somehow save himself as well. Not that Blaise cared all that much.

His hands trembled as Potter proceeded to point the sword directly at the globe. Merlin, this was hard. And terrifying.

"It's working," Potter breathed, fascinated as the globe turned black. "It's actually working."

Blaise smirked, despite himself. "I have no idea how on earth they could have done that." He steadied his grip. "To travel through time is one thing, but this –"

"Have more faith in your house, Zabini." Potter's lips twitched. "Slytherin would have probably found a solution through sheer stubbornness."

"That's more Gryffindor-like", Blaise shot back, gaze snapping up to watch as Potter pulled out the Elder Wand to see how it reacted to the magic.

"Perhaps. But the thing is the Founders knew what they were doing. The magical energy alone is impressive but if we had the diadem and all the rest of the destroyed relics, we could probably do it now."

Potter's logic was sound. _Legend_ dictated that the diadem contained infinite wisdom regarding the existence of multiple worlds, and that it could even find a specific world that the owner wished to discover. The sword, on the other hand, represented the ability to cut through the barrier between worlds, while Slytherin's locket acted as a mirror that allowed glimpses into the world that one wished to travel to.

And the cup, Hufflepuff's cup was the key ingredient, the one that allowed one's body to be consumed by the magic which connected the parallel universes. It was insane.

It was possible. 'If only the other relics hadn't been destroyed', Blaise thought. He could have done so much more, could have attempted to bypass the Head Unspeakable and his stupid regulations to investigate this further. With Potter by his side, it was even easier to do so, since the Savior had more access to Hogwarts than Blaise did. But they were stuck, unable to do more now that they actually had it.

Potter suddenly pointed the Elder Wand at the globe, a strange look on his face.

"What are you doing?" Blaise stared at the tip of Potter's wand.

The Savior seemed to consider something. Probably something foolhardy and insane, but it's not like Blaise could stop him.

"You once said that it was Death who was and still is the connecting force between the universes, right?" Potter asked, still staring at the globe, transfixed.

Blaise straightened, angling his body away from the wand. Potter was up to something and that was never a good thing.

"Yeah, but it's not like we can recreate the magic the Founders used with a simple wave of your wand. Even if it's the Elder Wand," Blaise said, eyeing Potter warily. "We need the other relics."

Potter sighed, lowering his arm. "Still. I was thinking about using the Killing Curse on the orb. Or maybe slashing it with the sword while casting the spell Helga used."

Blaise tried hard not to gape at the idiot.

"You don't even know if this particular orb really represents the world you need to find," he hissed. "The world that contains the relics not tainted by the Dark Lord's magic. Or even the wand you use. You don't know anything yet. For all we know, this one could still land us in some prehistoric dumpster of a world and then what? We don't even know how to safely travel back."

"But I don't have the time for more research," Potter shot back, pacing back and forth. "I can feel it, Zabini. The _pull_." Green eyes fixated on him, suddenly hard. It's as if Potter was possessed by something.

Whatever this curse was, it was powerful enough to wipe out any and all reason, small as it was already. And Potter still refused to say more about the Elder Wand.

"Tell me what happened," Blaise murmured. The globe inside his hand grew warm. "You need to tell me more."

"I can't trust you with everything." Potter's words were harsh, of course and not surprising. Yet, the two of them couldn't work together if Potter refused to talk. And for his mother's life, Blaise was willing to concede and to talk about her illness in order to get help. Potter, it seemed, wanted to do it all alone like the martyr he was.

The room seemed to darken somehow, the single orb in Blaise's hand becoming one with their surroundings.

Potter's eyes were pleading. "I can't trust you with something that so many others died for just to possess this _power_," the Savior shook his head. "It's complicated."

Blaise wasn't deterred. "All things are," he said. "If we want to work together, you need to tell me what it means to master the Elder Wand. It's obvious that it has something to do with your magic being out of control."

"It's not that obvious." Potter ran a nervous hand, the hand still holding the Elder Wand, through his messy hair, the sword gripped tightly in the other. He wasn't thinking clearly.

"Look, all I can tell you for now is that the Elder Wand can perhaps act as the conduit between the worlds. We could try to break through the barrier if we just –"

"Killed it," Blaise muttered. Potter was clearly insane. "The Killing Curse, no matter how powerful can't replicate the effect that the relics would have to reach the other side. We need them, and we need the full incantation that Hufflepuff used. What you propose is just a cheap imitation of their power."

"The Elder Wand is not a cheap imitation," Potter said, staring at Blaise in disbelief. "It managed to send me between the worlds when Voldemort used the Killing Curse on _me_. None of the other relics were needed for that."

He had a point. But still. Potter's case was unique.

"Get the scroll," Potter suddenly ordered. "We're going to try to use the spell and then I'm going to use the sword and the wand at the same time to see what it does to your universe."

Blaise stared at Potter in disbelief, hardly able to comprehend the sheer size of Potter's ego. How could he want to charge right in without knowing what his plan would do?

"If something happens, Potter," he spat angrily, heading for the desk, "That's on you."

Picking up Helga's scroll with the incomplete incantation he returned to his position, feeling uneasy. The globe in his hand had gotten even hotter, as if reacting to their emotions. Something wasn't right.

"Why is it so dark in here?" Potter looked around, noticing the change as well. The Elder Wand in his hand trembled.

"Don't know," Blaise replied, gritting his teeth. Potter stepped forward and handed him the sword while readjusting his grip. "It's best if I cast the spell and then use the Killing Curse on this thing."

Potter could cast the Killing Curse?

Blaise eyed him strangely.

"And I use the sword?" the former Slytherin asked. Merlin, they were going to get themselves killed. "Maybe we should use one of those animals to send it through. Just like before."

He wasn't ready to send himself through it, in case Potter's plan worked.

The globe they had picked didn't show the universe that lay behind the barrier, but the Head Unspeakable had claimed that this universe was one of the closest to their own. Sometimes the sphere would show faces, or a place. It was a distorted image and not nearly as clear as it would have been if they had Slytherins locket at their disposal. But it could be true.

Blaise still liked to think that it wasn't. He didn't really trust the other Unspeakables even if they were as competent as they claimed to be.

He unrolled the parchment under Potter's watchful gaze, looking over the ancient script that contained the spell. With a wave of his wand he conjured a rat and Potter quickly picked it up, casting his own spells on the animal. The Elder Wand trembled even more in his hand.

The entire room was charged with a strange magical energy that only seemed to amplify the more magic they used.

Blaise sincerely hoped that nothing would happen.

Raising the sword, he waited for Potter's spell. And Potter's lips parted, while the magic around them began to build up. It was so dark now that Blaise could barely see the sphere in his hand, only the stars inside it giving away its magic. Slowly, his hand let go of the orb as it began to hover between them, pulsing hotly. Potter began to chant, a litany of Old English that turned the orb into the same glowing sphere that had been created before during one of their earlier experiments. Nothing unusual so far, nothing except the darkness.

Blaise raised the sword, sweating as he attempted to shift its position. The gleaming rubies above him seemed to contain a life of their own. It made him nervous.

Potter was nearly at the end, and as soon as the last words fell from his lips, he shouted the final spell with the Elder Wand. The familiar green light appeared.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

It hit the orb with frightening precision and for a moment Blaise thanked Merlin that Potter was a competent wizard. The Killing Curse could have hit him instead.

Nothing happened.

The orb continued to float between them, darkness consuming the sphere as innocently as before.

Blaise tentatively raised the sword as Potter prepared to toss the rat at the orb. Normally it should suck the animal right in and spit it out after a while.

The sword hurled downward and hit the orb, shattering the outer protection with ease. At the same time, Potter threw the animal at it, no doubt having cast some sort of spell that would tell him more about the sphere, in case the rat returned.

Nothing happened. In fact, the rat bounced right off of it, and the conjured animal disappeared at once, as if it had never been there before.

The darkness started to lift, bringing with it more light, and now Blaise thought he'd been proven right.

They had fucked up the spell.

A fatal explosion rocked the building, unbeknownst to them both as they felt the room around them melt away to reveal even more light.

"What the hell?" Potter cursed, gripping his shoulder. "What is this?"

The world fell away and with a hard thud they fell to their knees as the light began to recede, only to reveal that somehow they have been transported away from the ministry without their awareness.

Blaise gaped at the endless space, an unknown field in the middle of nowhere. Beside him, Potter went quiet.

"I will fucking kill you, Potter." Blaise murmured. It had worked. Maybe just not the way they had wanted.

* * *

_1946_

"I need to cover my tracks," Harry breathed, staring at the unconscious body of Grindelwald's follower as Riddle proceeded to invade his personal space. "If his demented followers know where I am…" he broke off. They would hunt him down to retrieve the Elder Wand. Well, one of them, since he now had two.

"Surprising that you would admit to having defeated the Dark Lord," Riddle said, placing one hand on the dilapidated stone wall, his stance casual. "Now I'm curious as well. Why would you let Albus Dumbledore take all the glory, Evans?"

Dark eyes traced the side of his face.

"I don't have the time for this," Harry hissed, frustrated. "Merlin, this is bad." Whirling around, he faced Tom. "Look, if you want to discuss this or our deal, we'll have to postpone this. Or do you want to be hounded by Grindelwald's followers?"

It would be nice to have Riddle on his side, in case an army came down on Harry to attack him. But he wasn't inclined to risk more conflict. Besides, Blaise was waiting for him. And Harry had already gotten what he came here for.

Riddle was pretending to think. But his amusement was palpable, despite his curiosity and the pressing need for more answers.

"If they come for you, you can count on my support, if that's what you need," he spoke calmly, assessing him. "Somehow I doubt you'll need it, though."

"Thank you," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. Honestly, that man was a menace. "Now, you know where to find me so-"

"Evans?" Riddle interrupted, "My cooperation doesn't come without a price."

Slowly, he stepped away from Harry, drawing his hood up. "I already gave you the book and I'm also aware of you meddling with Grindelwald's war. If you want the relics, you'll have to ensure that nothing will happen to them."

Frowning, Harry gathered the unconscious wizard in his arms, preparing to Apparate.

Right. Riddle still needed the diadem and everything else to create his precious Horcruxes.

Would that mean Harry and Blaise would compromise? No doubt, the Slytherin would rebel against that idea, insisting that Harry kill Riddle as soon as his back was turned.

"I won't do anything to the diadem for now. Not until I have all the others," Harry replied, staring at Riddle's back. "I haven't agreed on anything yet. And without my friend, I'm not ready to make a deal with you, Tom."

Riddle's shoulders stiffened.

"If you want to discuss this with us, get your followers in line." Harry wasn't willing to let Riddle's cronies go after Blaise, and if it came down to it, he would challenge them all, Riddle included.

"Then meet me next week at my manor, Evans," Riddle said icly. "And this is an _order_. We'll discuss the terms of our cooperation."

Harry chuckled, amused that it was so easy to tick the man off. Riddle was so used to cow everyone around him. It must hurt to meet someone who had the power to be his equal.

"As you wish." Harry grinned mockingly, before Disapparting, taking Grindelwald's follower with him.

He landed gracefully, despite the additional baggage in his arms.

"You need to search his mind, Blaise," Harry said, tossing the unconscious body to the floor as soon as he apparated inside the small living room.

Blaise was currently tinkering with the ingredients he'd retrieved to create the potion that would cure his mother, but a look at the body made him go still.

"What have you done now, Potter?" He was gazing at the man as if Harry had brought Grindelwald to their hideout.

"What in Merlin's name have you done?"

Harry shrugged, a bit sheepish. It was probably a bad idea to bring Grindelwald's follower here. But Riddle could have attempted to rifle through the man's mind and to squeeze out even more secrets, if possible. It was better this way. Maybe…Hopefully.

"He's one of Grindelwald's men and he followed me, which means that his army knows that I retrieved the Elder Wand."

Blaise threw up his hands in defeat, exhausted. Harry could have softened the blow, but he'd never been all that patient or considerate. So angry Slytherin it was.

"He tracked you down?" the other said. "I thought your disguise held up during the battle."

"Nope," Harry grinned. "Took a lot out of me to use the opening I had to duel the old man. It failed midway through while you were taking down that other wizard.

"Great, just perfect." Blaise sneered, whipping out his wand. "Rennervate."

The unknown man stirred, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings. "W-what?"

"You and I are going to have a nice long conversation," Blaise said coolly, obviously still miffed about the situation. But Harry trusted him enough to deal with this. Besides, he had something else to work on.

They would need to visit Hepzibah Smith as soon as possible. Harry was certain that Riddle wouldn't be quite as understanding if he collected the Founders' relics before them. And that was an advantage Harry didn't want him to have.

Pulling out the book he'd retrieved from Riddle, Harry began to plan. Contrary to popular belief, he could do that, too. Sometimes.

* * *

As soon as Tom Apparated inside Malfoy Manor's sitting room, he felt the wards shift around him, recognizing his magic. Abraxas would no doubt rush to his side, but Tom welcomed the reprieve, the moment when he could simply stand in the opulent room and not be bothered to put on a mask.

Evans needed to be disposed of and this time Tom would need to be cautious about it. He couldn't gauge the man's skill, but if he had defeated Grindelwald in a duel, it wouldn't be easy.

Abraxas came downstairs, grey eyes widening when he saw Riddle's form.

"My Lord?" he asked. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

Tom headed for his usual seat, unbothered by the time or the fact that he obviously must have interrupted Abraxas in one of his dalliances with another prostitute.

The man was unkempt and flushed. And obviously embarrassed.

"I want you to contact one of your former allies on Gellert Grindelwald's side. And I want you to retrieve a memory for me."

If anything, the blonde looked even more flustered, not having expected that. Many of Grindelwald's followers have been incarcerated after the battle, but there were some that would be able to provide valuable answers. And those would tell Tom everything he needed to know in order to prepare against this new threat.

He didn't trust Evans to uphold any deals or to leave his future Horcruxes intact. Additionally, the man knew more than he should, and that was reason enough to kill him. Evans could know about his Horcruxes and Tom's paranoia allowed him to think that the man would even know how to destroy one.

It was, however, a shame to kill him, Tom admitted, if only to himself. Harry Evans would have been a nice asset to his own growing army. In his mind, he recalled the defiant gaze of someone who had seen more at his age than he should have. It was fascinating.

And there was this pull between them, this _draw_ that Tom couldn't understand, but wanted to. And he knew Harry felt the same.

Harry, _Harry_, Harry. An ordinary name for someone like him. Tom kind of liked it.

In any case, he would need to pay Hepzibah a visit. It was time to raise the stakes in this new game.


	8. Ginger Disaster

**Chapter 8: Ginger Disaster**

Both wands felt hot in his palm when Harry used them. The only difference between the Elder Wand of this world and his own was the severe damage Voldemort had done to its surface during the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd relentlessly forced his own magic through it and must have felt that the wand had been struggling against him.

And now Harry was left with this.

Curled up on the small bed in his hideout, Harry's fingers stroked the carved wood, memorizing the dents and curved end, moving the wand this way and that. Such a curious little thing. It didn't feel nearly as comfortable to Harry as his own holly wand did.

He blinked, eyes roaming tiredly across the small space.

It was slightly too warm in his bedroom, the humid air from outside doing nothing to dispel the heat.

They'd been living in the 40's and investigating this past for nearly half a year now. If everything went as it should, then Harry and Blaise should be back home at the end of the year. Calculating the time until they could attempt to use the spell again was hazardous, though. After all, what happened back then had been an accident. And the sword had remained in the ministry.

The worst part of this experiment was leaving Ron and Hermione. His friends must be worried sick by now, although only Hermione knew exactly what Harry had attempted to do. If anything went wrong, she would hopefully find a way to help them.

Harry and Blaise didn't have much time left.

Sighing, Harry curled his hand around the second Elder Wand more firmly, watching with no small amount of trepidation as it hummed and vibrated in recognition, sensing in him the true master.

How odd. Both wands recognized him. But being the Master of two wands wasn't the only issue.

Other than hunting Riddle's would-be Horcruxes, Harry was trying to figure out just how much influence being the Master of Death had on his destabilized magic. And sometimes he felt as if what was happening to him was merely an adjustment to this new reality. As if being the master was somehow forcing his magic to adapt. To what, he couldn't tell.

Green eyes roamed over the wands.

Riddle didn't know anything. He _didn't_.

The Founders' items were merely their safe way to return back home, while the true purpose of travelling back was the actual investigation into the Deadly Hallows; two which have been irreparably tainted by Voldemort at some point. So far, his results had been disappointing, to say the least. But the important thing was that Riddle remained clueless.

Oh, the man _might_ be right about Harry's magic going haywire, but as along as he fixated on his potential Horcruxes, the Master of Death business would hopefully remain buried. Harry's secret.

Someone knocked on his door and Blaise's head poked inside without warning.

"I'm done with him, Potter." The former Slytherin announced, plopping down on one of the rickety chairs. He looked tired.

Harry frowned. "Already? I thought it would take longer."

"Not really," Blaise said. "The guy squealed like a pig as soon as I threatened him with the heavy spells. Don't know why someone like him would ever be picked by Grindelwald of all people."

Rolling his eyes, Harry leaned back, putting both wands aside, aware of Zabini's curious eyes following the movement.

"Grindelwald isn't like our snake-faced Dark Lord," Harry replied, eyeing him carefully. "From what I read, the man liked to use his subordinates to coordinate recruitment. But that shouldn't matter anyway. His army is finished."

Blaise hummed noncommittally. He didn't look convinced.

"He had interesting memories, despite being so incompetent," the older wizard said.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

The Slytherin frowned in thought.

"Not only did he and a couple of others know our faces. Apparently, Dumbledore's been investigating us, too," Blaise drawled, turning towards him.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. And Merlin, Harry should have foreseen this, should have taken into account that Dumbledore would figure things out much sooner than Harry imagined.

It was inconvenient. All of it. Harry stared at the empty desk to his side, not seeing anything. His thoughts whirled around this new revelation, fully aware that now he would have to dodge two powerful wizards in order to obtain any and all information regarding the Master of Death issue. And Dumbledore obviously knew about it. Knew what it took to become one.

Harry had hoped that Dumbledore would not enter the picture until at the very end. It meant that both Grindelwald and him were in contact just to figure out where Harry came from.

"Great. Just freaking awesome," he murmured.

"Potter, you should've killed Riddle right from the start. One problem less," Blaise voiced, uncaring. "Besides, you should have told me why Dumbledore would be so interested in the resurrection stone. We still have to get that one."

"Blaise."

"Potter," Blaise's voice was hard. "You owe me a few answers here. I've been running around with you _for months_. And my mother's dying. So if there's anything that I need to know about the Elder Wand business that I don't already know, you _need_ to tell me. We're both in this together."

"I-," Running a hand through his hair, Harry stared at the dark-skinned boy in front of him, unsure now. Blaise wasn't above using any and all information if it suited him. Despite their newfound respect for one another, there were a couple of things Harry liked to keep to himself.

What to do now?

"Look, only my best friends know about this."

Blaise waved a hand dismissively. "You're the Master of the Elder Wand. Big deal, Potter. Everyone knows."

"And you also know about the Deathly Hallows. More than others do. You should be able to figure it out on your own," Harry replied, mouth a tense line. He didn't like to talk about this.

Blaise was no fool. It took only a moment for him to piece the puzzle together.

"No way," he breathed, eyes widening. "You mastered them?" he hissed. "I thought it was just the wand." He grew alarmed. "You told everyone – you told the papers-"

"Malfoy knows enough about the Invisibility Cloak. He could have figured it out as well. But no, nobody knows as much as Ron and Hermione."

"But- That means." Blaise was at a loss for words, but his eyes grew sharper.

"Yeah. I've been told that I'm apparently the Master of Death. It is some sort of official title." Harry grimaced just thinking about it. Saying it out loud was even worse.

The two stared at one another in silence, both uneasy around each other. Harry knew very well what it did to people when they were being told that the power to obtain something valuable was close enough to them, easy to get. And Blaise had reasons enough to try to backstab Harry, if it could save his mother. Being the Master of Death sounded like a solution to all his problems. Harry knew better.

It was a curse. Sensing death and nothingness. It was a curse...

His vision blurred momentarily.

Shifting forward, his feet touched the hard floor and Harry tucked both Elder Wands inside his wand holster, glad that he made the correct adjustments. He needed to keep them close. Despite having taken all Hallows from his world with him, nothing would provide enough security.

For a moment, he simply breathed in and out, taking the silence around them as an opportunity to clear his head.

His magic was tempestuous, a shackled beast that was hard to keep contained. Anything could set Harry off these days. And the need to do something was ever present. He just didn't know what. What was his magic trying to tell him?

"I won't use this against you, Potter."

The words were unexpected and uttered with conviction.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he regarded the other man closely. He wouldn't?

"I don't see the point in it. Not anymore." Blaise waved it off, sensing Harry's confusion. "It's better for me and my mother to have you as an ally. Besides, I trust you with this power. Whatever it is."

Nobody knew what it was.

"You researched the Hallows on your own. You should know that there's no snap solution to any of our problems," Harry warned, rising to his feet.

"And you've decided to come here on a whim, Potter. Despite what you may think, even being the Master of Death doesn't mean that the Hallows are affecting your magic. You're still leaving out a few crucial things here." The other man sighed. "I'm close to finishing the potion which will help my mother. You on the other hand are just letting your instincts carry you on a mad chase for some miracle cure. I don't know Potter. It's kind of stupid."

Rolling his eyes, Harry considered the other. "My instincts haven't failed me before," he said. "I'll figure it out. And we'll get back home anyway. Even if I don't."

_Nothing could stop Hermione._

"Hm. Now I know why you're so hesitant to engage in a duel with the Dark Lord," Blaise mused, his eyes following him. "You could lose on a technicality."

Harry nodded, not seeing the point in hiding this. "I didn't want him to become the Master of the Elder Wand."

That was the truth.

"Yeah. That," his friend breathed. "Let's hope for both our sakes that Riddle never figures it out," the Slytherin murmured. Somehow the thought of a Dark Lord running rampant as the Master of Death didn't sit well with his former classmate.

The thought alone made Harry shudder. He didn't want to think of the consequences in case they never returned.

"He knows what I'm after, in a sense," Harry continued, bowing his head. "But he thinks that the cup and sword and everything else is what I need to fix my magic." Pacing around, Harry wondered just what else Riddle knew of the Hallows, if he had been in possession of the book Harry had requested. Voldemort had been disinterested and ignorant for the most part. But then...

This was a _different_ world.

Blaise's eyes narrowed.

"Have you considered that letting someone else become the Master would rid you of your problem, someone trustworthy?"

Harry wanted to laugh. Of course, he had. Hell, even Hermione had urged him to pass over the wand's power to someone else.

"I don't think it would work. And I don't exactly fancy someone else running around with unlimited power. It's not worth the risk," he eventually said.

"The faith you have in your friends," Blaise drawled, leaning backward and crossing his legs. "I don't know, but Granger doesn't strike me as someone going after some fancy title. The Weasel on the other hand..."

Harry shot him a warning glance. He wasn't in the mood for more disparaging comments. Blaise just shrugged, smirking.

"But I see why even that wouldn't work, considering your family history and your ties to the Peverell family," the other said. Harry frowned. His partner had studied more than he let on. "Perhaps only _you_ can fully wield the power of the Hallows, since they're practically a family heirloom," Blaise noted, thinking. "If I had created these objects, I wouldn't want any outsider to be able to use them. And that's why most pure-blood families treat their heirlooms like something that needs to be kept away from the masses."

"You're right." Harry crossed his arms, wondering. Could it be possible? Could Riddle also use the Hallows _beyond their capacity_? Were they both the only ones able to be the Master of Death?

"What can you do?" Blaise suddenly cut in, his gaze hard. "You only spoke of your so called _curse_ in vague terms, Potter." Harry stiffened, hating how perceptive his friend could be. Slytherins were exhausting like that. Always knowing more than they should, always figuring out hidden motives.

There was no way out of this except telling him the entire truth.

Running a nervous hand through his hair again, Harry breathed in and returned his stare. The truth would help them both. Maybe.

"My magic is out of control, as you know by now."

Predictably, the other simply rolled his eyes. Well, Harry could always deliver more surprises. That's what he was good at, after all. He smiled grimly.

"But I can _control the dead_."

* * *

"Oh, Tom. You shouldn't have." Hepzibah fanned herself, as if the mere thought of Tom giving her flowers was another milestone in their 'relationship'. Her ginger wig almost slipped over her massive forehead with the force of her movements. She was beside herself.

Tom grimaced, already curling his hand around familiar yew, prepared to kill that waste of oxygen once and for all. But she still needed to retrieve the locket and the cup, two items she'd shown him ages ago, to his surprise. Two objects he could have retrieved much sooner if it wasn't for Evans and the sudden interference with the diadem business. Alas, he was here now. And he would gain an edge in order to control Evans properly before he finished him off. Reluctantly.

"Caractacus sends his regards. He would have liked to visit you earlier, but unfortunately his business requires him to travel abroad these days," Tom explained, following her inside and entering the ostentatious sitting room. It was unbearable here, surrounded by pink and gold ornaments and furniture.

"No matter, my dear. No matter," Hepzibah waddled further into the room, searching for a small casket that she had used in order to store her more valuable items. From what Tom had sensed the first time, it was enchanted professionally, most likely done by someone else, since the old witch was neither powerful nor smart enough to even use her wand properly.

For someone that claimed to be related to Helga Hufflepuff, she behaved more like the worst of Muggles Tom had encountered in his life.

"You can use all the time you need to study the locket," she turned and winked at him, making Tom feel sick all over again. "Old Burke would only disturb us both." The old witch batted her eyelashes, her swollen feet almost bursting out of the pink slippers that she insisted on wearing.

Pudgy fingers stroked along the small engravings on the outside, before Hepzibah lifted the casket. Tom knew he should control his emotions at any times, but it was harder than ever to remain unaffected when the only link to his past, to his ancestry remained in the hands of such filth.

"There you have it, Tom," she grasped the locket firmly and held it up to him, but her simpering expression was fixated on his face, as if she could sway his attention away from it. Disgust crawled along his insides. "It's been in my possession for quite a while. Lovely, isn't it?"

"Thank you," he replied gently, reaching out for the locket.

Her house-elf chose that moment to pop inside the room.

"There are two visitors waiting outside, Madam," Hokey announced. "Hokey believes they work for the ministry. A Mr. Evans and friend."

Tom stilled, lowering his arm.

"Oh, is that so?" Hepzibah suddenly cried, rubbing her chin, before she dropped the locket back inside and closed the lid. "It must have slipped my mind." She instantly threw Tom a look, her gaze regretful. "I must have forgotten it, Tom. I'm so sorry. But I ordered two curse breakers from the ministry to take a look at that old enchanted armour I showed you last month." She instantly began to fix her robe, as Hokey popped away. "Oh my, what a shame."

It was obvious that she wanted to spend more time with him alone, but Tom's mind repeated the name over and over again.

_Evans_ had known about Smith.

Of course, he had. And he must have planned accordingly, which made it even more possible for the other to know about Tom's every plan. Did he know how to destroy Horcruxes? Did he want to destroy the containers on purpose, before Tom could even turn them into Horcruxes? Harry Evans had claimed otherwise. He'd claimed indifference. He did not even care about Tom's chosen path, his future as Lord Voldemort, despite knowing the name.

It couldn't be a coincidence that he appeared just in time to thwart him. Again.

How could he possibly know all this?

His irritation with the mysterious wizard grew so much that he barely noticed when Hepzibah returned with two young men in tow, both of them polite as they made light conversation with the witch. She was enamored, of course.

"Ah, there we are again, my dear," Hepzibah exclaimed, patting Evans on the back as if displaying another relic proudly. For some reason, her touching Harry Evans irritated Tom. She was standing way too close to him. And Evans endured it all with the patience of a saint, before his green eyes landed on him, growing wide with shock.

The other one, his friend, grew equally alarmed.

"So nice to see you again," Tom said, eyeing the two. The locket and cup were stored away by Hokey, as Evans proceeded to watch him. Tom couldn't do anything yet.

But then, if everything was planned accordingly, why were the two wizards so surprised to see him here?

"You know each other?" Hepzibah tittered then, curling her fat hands more firmly around Harry's arm. "How wonderful. But then I forget how small our community is."

His friend, Blaise or something, smirked.

"Quite small, indeed."

Tom stepped forward, no longer willing to play any games here. If Evans wanted to outwardly challenge him for the locket, they would finish this properly. And despite the small twinge of annoyance he felt at losing an opportunity to study these two people, he would proceed as planned. Besides, he'd never wanted to cooperate with the wizard in the first place. Not on equal footing.

Too much was at stake here.

"Perhaps we should take a look at that armour you wanted to show us, Ms. Smith," Blaise intoned, laying on the charm. "We have a job to do, after all." Before he could even take a step forward, Evans drew his wand, _faster_ than Tom, and stunned Hepzibah with deadly precision. She fell to the floor and Hokey instantly appeared, ready to protect her, but it was his friend who reacted this time, taking out the elf before Tom could intervene.

All three had their wands out and Tom was outnumbered this time.

"You won't hurt her," Evans said calmly. "I won't let you."

Beside him, his friend rolled his eyes, the words 'bloody savior' loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry didn't even blink. Whatever he was feeling, it was serious enough for him to consider actively going against Tom. And he could see it in those green eyes, a threat forming that spoke of a wizard capable enough to take out Grindelwald.

Tom stared at the unconscious witch for a moment, before smiling at Harry.

"That's no longer an issue, is it?" he murmured. "For someone who's willing to protect the worthless, you're not exactly gentle, Evans." Tom caught the wariness in the other wizard's eyes, the anxiety that Harry's friend was trying to hide. For some reason, he felt more fear and was distinctly more aware of Tom's power than Evans was. Was it because these two people were so different in terms of skill? In any case, it was clear that this Blaise person could be dealt with more easily and by threatening him he could take out Evans. Could control him.

Friendship was always such a glaring weakness. He raised his wand higher.

"I meant what I said, Riddle," Harry forced out, annoyed. "The locket and cup are ours. You don't need them."

"But I do," Tom said. "And I already told you I was willing to hear you out on that. We want the same thing, after all. But your problems are more dire than mine." Namely Harry's rampant magic that even now was swirling around him with barely contained force. Even his breathing was irregular, Tom noted with interest.

"They might be, but I don't care. If you want the objects, you can have them after we're done. But if you kill people just to obtain some fancy items, I _will_ stand in your way," Evans promised, gaze heated. Tom couldn't look away.

"Kill him already," Blaise hissed, angry. "He doesn't stand a chance."

"Against you?" Tom drawled, unconcerned, pointing his wand at the taller of the two men. He would like to teach this idiot a lesson. Predictably, Evans stepped in the way, shielding Blaise from Tom's view. By doing that, he also significantly increased Tom's chances for a swift attack, since the other couldn't aim properly. Idiots, the both of them.

"Be quiet," Harry snarled at them. He was quite a sight, all angry and ready to kill, Tom thought absently. "I won't make a deal with you, Riddle. Not if you go around killing everyone who stands in your way."

"What makes you think I wanted to kill her," Tom voiced, interested.

"Because I know you."

Blaise grew alarmed, reaching out for Harry.

"Because I know what you're capable of, Voldemort," Harry spat. Tom listened, fascinated, despite the danger he was in. "I know what lurks beneath that surface you like to present. You want to destroy everyone who stands in your way, you want immor-"

"Don't say it," Blaise said, gripping Evans' arm tightly. "Are you insane?"

"Immortality," Tom whispered, lowering his wand abruptly. But his eyes remained fixated on the boy who came out of nowhere. "Well, well, well. The things you both seem to know about me." Stepping forward, he disregarded the wands trained on him. He needed to know _more_. And Evans was so out of control that it would be pathetically easy to squeeze those secrets out of him.

"You realize, Evans," he drew out the fake name. "That I can't let you escape with the amount of knowledge you have."

"We are not your enemies," Blaise forced out, frustrated. "We won't interfere with your plans-"

"That's not for you to decide," Tom interrupted the other swiftly. He did not want to deal with subordinates. He was so close to figuring out the truth about Harry Evans. And there were clues, small gaps in logic that allowed Tom to draw probable scenarios in his head. If half of what he thought about Evans was true, he could not kill him. Control him, maybe, ensnare him, hopefully. But not kill, even if his entire being protested against it. He could not kill him. Not with such a fountain of knowledge in his grasp. But he needed that _confirmation_.

"I want to make a deal with you Riddle," Harry suddenly said, his magic drawing back. "And I will tell you what you want to know, if you promise not to kill anybody while we're here and if you swear not to collect the objects before we have used them."

"For what?" Tom asked, watching Harry closely.

Harry's eyes closed, hiding what could only be resignation that marred his expression. Tom waited.

"To return back _home_. To our universe and our time."

The words sounded like a promise to the young Dark Lord. Like a new beginning.

Dark eyes flared crimson.


End file.
